


stumbling down that yellow brick road

by vulfen (SublimeDiscordance)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Eventual Polypack, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Melissa McCall is an amazing mother, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Pining, Polyamorous Pack, Polypack, Post Season 4 Canon Compliant, Sexual Content, except basically everyone is gay, so much cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3632469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/vulfen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he’s 16, Liam thinks he might be falling in love with Scott McCall. And, as gravity dictates, things go downhill from there. (Rated E as a precaution; mostly adheres to M rating)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suyari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/gifts), [DefaltManifesto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/gifts).



> Dedicated to the lovely suyari and DefaltManifesto, my two fellow Sciam+Polypack shippers. 
> 
> The "Other Additional Tags To Be Added" tag is there because, well, I don't want to spoil anything about later. And because I feel it's dishonest to tag something when it hasn't made an appearance yet.
> 
>  ~~As of this initial posting I have 7 chapters planned and 4 written. We'll see if that final number changes as we go along.~~ So at this point there are 9 chapters planned and 7 written. Whoops. Also, the rating for this fic has been upped to E for chapter 7 and chapter 7 alone. If you don't want to read sexual content, give the last, eh, *waggles hand* half of chapter 7 a miss. 
> 
> Title from Erin McCarley's "Pony (It's OK)"

The first time Liam thinks he might be falling in love with Scott McCall, he is 16.

When he actually allows himself to think about it, it isn’t that surprising. He’s been following Scott faithfully, looking to him for guidance and support, for over a year. His entire life has been restructured completely around Scott. And, while he might’ve resented the Bite at first, might’ve had periods where the complete and utter _insanity_ of his life had caught up with him, might’ve tried to shun his werewolf instincts a few times… He’d always come back. He’d always come back to Scott, and Scott had always been waiting patiently, arms open, that goofy lopsided smile nearly blinding him.

Every time, Liam would slink back and sink into those arms, into the scents of _Alpha_ and _home_ , breathing deeply, nosing at the line of Scott’s neck the way Malia does when she’s having a bad day. The way that Scott constantly complains tickles, but only when Liam does it. Scott would run fingers through his hair, drawing a low sound from him at the lines of soothing static those fingertips left behind. If Kira or Malia were around, they would almost always make soft, baby-like cooing noises until Scott shushed them, and even then Liam knew he’d be the butt of their jokes— _Alpha’s little baby beta come home at last_ —for weeks to come. Jokes he would endure with a smile, because he was _Scott’s_ beta, the only one he’d made for himself, and maybe that made him feel special sometimes. Maybe it made him feel special more than sometimes.

And, every time those arms would release him at long last, his body instinctively trying to push him back forward, to seek out _more_ , Scott’s eyes would find his. Not the glowing alpha red of authority, but the infinitely deep, _human_ brown that Liam somehow finds far more compelling. And those eyes would always be filled to the brim with a kind of knowing, as if Scott had been sure, the way he always has been, that Liam would come back. That it had just been a matter of time.

Because, maybe a part of Liam _did_ know, deep down, that it was the truth: for him, coming back to Scott was _always_ a matter of time.

Liam finds himself wondering if this has just been a matter of time, too.

“Would you two just get a room already? I thought we were gonna play a game.”

He lets his controller fall between his crossed legs where he’s leaning against the side of Scott’s bed, having been forced to take the only one with a cord—“I’m the best friend and it’s Scott’s house, dude.” “But I could kick your ass if I really wanted to—” “Liam, no.”—and elbows the mattress. Scott and Stiles continue rolling around on the bed, arguing and grappling over who gets the see-through controller with LEDs and who gets the plain black one. Neither his alpha nor Stiles seem to be phased in the least, the sounds of grunting and straining not changing at all. He tries again, a little harder this time, and the mattress skids a good six inches off the box spring.

There’s a yelp, series of thumps, and a muted “ _ow_ ” that has Liam abandoning his place and practically springing onto the middle of the mussed sheets. A quick, “Sorry, I didn’t—” is already out of his mouth as he leans over, before a laugh interrupts him.

“Scotty, I think your beta is trying to tell us something.”

Because there’s Stiles, on top of Scott, arms and legs sprawled on either side of Liam’s alpha’s body. He can practically smell the sweet stench the two of them give off when they’re around one another, when they’re close like this, when they sneak looks at each other and think no one else is watching—

“Yeah,” Scott rubs at his head, pushing at Stiles’ shoulder, “that my floors are too hard, apparently.”

“Aww, little werewolf can’t take a little hardwood? Do you need me to kiss it and make it better?” Liam can’t see Stiles’ face, but he can practically _hear_ the smirk in his voice, can smell the thread of lust that sweeps through them both—nearly groans aloud as it hits him; he’s always found the scent of lust a fucking turn-on, but that could also just be puberty. Liam shifts himself, not much, but enough, to where he can see Scott’s face, can see how his alpha’s eyes are a glowing cherry. Can see the _desire_ in those eyes, can fucking _smell_ it, watches as Scott’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and—

Scott’s eyes shift, barely down and over, and his gaze crashes into Liam’s.

His eyes heat on their own, and he knows if he were looking into a mirror they’d be a glowing gold. Something hot, something thorny and ugly, races through Liam’s guts, pulling and tearing as it does, and he rips himself away, blinking rapidly, trying to get himself back under control. Tries to will away the low burble he can feel welling up in his chest. Tries to think of Scott, his alpha, his anchor, the pinnacle of restraint and power. Tries—

“Liam?” The concern in his alpha’s voice makes him shake, makes the hot, tearing thing in his belly writhe and squirm. “Are you okay?”

He has to take a breath before he answers. “Yeah, I—” He can’t come up with a reason that doesn’t feel like a lie, a lie he knows Scott will hear in his heartbeat. “I dunno, I—I mean, yeah. I’m fine.”

He can _feel_ his own heartbeat flutter. Can see Scott’s brows pinch together, can see Stiles’ head turn to face him, and _fuck_ why is this his life? They both disentangle themselves, controllers clattering to the floor, and climb onto the bed on either side of him. Stiles takes up a position by the head of the bed, sitting where the pillows used to be—Liam’s _pretty_ sure they’re on the other side of the room at this point—while Scott moves to Liam’s side, a hand on his shoulder. They’re both just giving him this _look_ , and Liam finds himself wishing for not the first time that he could read their minds, could really, truly understand them, if only so that he wouldn’t still sometimes feel like this: like an outsider looking in.

“Liam,” a sigh, “what’s wrong? Is it that Stiles and I were,” Liam watches the two of them trade a glance, like they do, “well, y’know?”

Oh. _Oh_.

He is officially _the_ asshole.

“No, Scott, you—” He tries to look at Scott, but it’s a mistake. It’s a mistake and he can’t undo it and he can’t look away and _fuck_ , “You guys are like that all the time and it’s fine, I promise. I mean,” Liam tries to shrug, but he’s pretty sure it comes off as more of a spasm or something, “Mason’s my best friend, so. Yeah. No, it’s not that.”

There’s a moment of silence before,

“So, what was it?”

And Liam. Liam can’t look away, can’t keep the words from spilling out of his mouth because this is _Scott_ , this is his _alpha_ , and even if there’s not even a hint of command in the words he finds himself answering truthfully.

“I don’t know.”

Neither of them speak, neither of them break from the staring contest they’ve apparently got going on. Liam’s heart is in his throat, feels like it’s choking him even as that sharp thing in his gut slithers back up his spine, coming to rest just behind his ribcage.

Stiles darts for the edge of the bed with a gleeful sound, scooping up the LED controller.

“What?” He just grins when Scott turns to stare at him, and Liam can smell—this close, can almost _feel_ —the fondness and annoyance that roll off his alpha in waves. “You two were having an alpha-beta kind of moment. Not my fault you impaired your own werewolf-y reflexes.”

Scott looks back at Liam, rolling his eyes as he smiles. There’s a definite moment where his alpha’s eyes on him practically scream ‘ _We’ll talk about this later_ ,’ but it passes almost as quickly as it came.

“Let’s kick his ass, Li’.”

The nickname, not exactly _new_ , but one that only ever falls from Scott’s tongue, does something to his insides it’s never done before. Makes them heat and tie themselves in knots. Eases that spiny feeling he gets whenever he sees Stiles with his alpha, whenever he thinks about the two of them wound about one another—

 _Jealousy_.

The thought pops in his mind like a soap bubble, shining and reflecting the light before bursting as soon as it makes contact with anything else, leaving nothing but a ring, an impression, behind. It makes him falter for only a split-second, but when he catches himself, forces himself to smile back at his alpha, there’s that look again, the one that just _knows_ things, hidden behind that smile again. The smile that makes his chest constrict in a way that is both intolerable and absolutely necessary for Liam to keep breathing.

_He's jealous of Scott and Stiles._

Of what they have. Not their friendship, but of the way they simply... _are_ , together. The way they maybe let their hands brush when they think no one notices ( _Liam notices he always notices_ ). The way their gazes maybe linger longer on one another than is strictly platonic, even for friends as close as they are.

The way, when only Liam is around, they'll allow their noses and lips to brush, their hands to wander. Not around other members of the pack—though it's not like they don't _know_ —only Liam.

As that thought shoots through him, the warmth that his alpha's smile kindles in his chest has another following right on its tail.

_He's maybe kind of sort of possibly in love with Scott._

And, somehow, just like him finding his way back to his alpha, no matter how far he might stray, it feels just as inevitable.

Maybe, he finds himself thinking as he takes up his wired controller, wordlessly handing the black cordless one to Scott, it'd just been a matter of time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Liam admits that he’s in love with Scott McCall, he is still 16.

Months have passed since the controller incident. A rare layer of snow—something Liam’s missed since moving down to Beacon Hills—coats the streets and lawns, barely an inch thick and sticking to the bottoms of his sneakers. He hugs his jacket closer to himself, shoving his hands further into the pockets as he keeps his head down. Has to squint against the solid wall of _white_ that assaults his retinas from below, though it’s not like he needs to see—his feet have long-since memorized the path between his house and Scott’s.

He should’ve listened to Stiles and worn gloves, though. Maybe a hat. His ears are probably bright red. Stiles is totally going to give him a big, fat “I told you so,” and Scott’s probably going to just look at him with that sickening sort of exasperated fondness he always does and laugh at his near-shivering. Immediately afterward, though, Scott will probably invite him in. Direct him to the couch and run upstairs to grab a multitude of blankets, ordering Stiles to help him warm Liam back up. Huddle the three of them close—because Scott never goes anywhere without Stiles, and maybe he can’t stop the twist of bitterness that sweeps through him at the thought—within their wooly depths and gather Liam’s hands between theirs. Stiles will probably crack a joke about “It’s not gay in a threeway” that Liam is sure he’ll force himself to laugh at, and let himself sink into the warmth, to imagine, to just _dream_ , that—

Something wet, something _cold_ , smacks into his neck, forces its way into his ear, and Liam howls, body jerking reflexively. He goes down, his jacket getting covered in an already-melting layer of snow, clawing at the ice dripping down his spine.

“Oh sorry, I thought you were Derek.”

His eyes seek out the source of the voice—it’s not nearly as easy with slush blocking one ear, but he manages—and he has a fleeting moment to take in the way Scott’s entire front yard is bare of snow before Stiles practically gallops towards him, grinning like a fucking crazy person.

“What the _fuck_?” Liam asks, getting his feet under him and tilting his head as he stands, ignoring the hand Stiles offers him. “How d’you confuse me with _Derek_?”

“Because you’re brooding like a freaking sourwolf,” Stiles’ smile doesn’t dim in the least, “and it’s actually kind of pitiful I even managed to hit you at all.”

Anger tries to course through his veins, and Liam recognizes the signs of an oncoming attack for what they are—just another thing that Scott’s been helping him manage in his life. Closes his eyes, _breathes_ , fights to keep the animal scratching at his ribcage bound in the chains he’s built for it. Holds on to an image of Scott in his mind, how perfectly in control his alpha always is, always _has been_ , a pillar of strength even in Liam’s moments of greatest weakness.

The scratching stops.

And, with a sort of calm, Liam bends down and scoops up as much snow as he can grab in his fists from the sidewalk. He jumps behind Stiles before he can react, shoving his handfuls of biting cold down the still-grinning bastard’s shirt.

Scott’s laughter is louder even than Stiles’ indignant shrieking. Liam feels a sort of warmth spread through his gut, one not rooted in his heart, exactly, but in something just as base, as essential. It’s the feeling he gets when he’s out on the field practicing with the team (co-captain with Scott, of course), rushing towards the goal in a scrimmage, dodging other players in practiced motions. The feeling he gets when it’s just him and Scott—and usually Stiles—and they’re just sitting around, talking, playing a game, or even wrestling Stiles until he admits that werewolves don’t smell like wet dogs after they get rained on. He dodges Stiles’ poorly-aimed attempt at retaliation, and rolls onto the snow-bare grass. Dodges another snowball.

“I swear, when I get my hands on you, Dunbar, I’m gonna—”

 _Fun_. He’s having _fun_.

A laugh bubbles up in his throat. Stiles growls, running back over to where Liam can see he’s got a veritable mountain of snowballs.

“Says the one who only hit me because I was distracted,” he fires back. Grins at Stiles as he leans away from another throw, this one sailing by his head by scant inches, and then another.

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing you’re so easily distracted then,” Liam feels his eyes widen, “or else this would never work.”

And, of course, Scott chooses then to strike, a freezing cold shoved down Liam’s jacket. He makes a high pitched sounds not unlike a whine that transforms into a growl, whipping his head around and taking off after his alpha, already running for the front door, laughter on the wind. He can hear Stiles laughing too, calling something like “Run, Forest, run!” after them. Hears more than sees several snowballs zing past him, but pays them no mind. Scott reaches the door, wrenches it open, and shuts it behind him. Liam hits the door, grabs it, hauls it open, rushes inside, and—

And comes face to face with Scott’s mom, her arms crossed, looking pointedly at his snow-covered clothes. Scott is standing just inside the door himself, looking sheepish. A moment later, there’s a burst of cold at Liam’s back—the melting snow trickling down his spine makes the wind feel especially frigid—and Stiles practically barrels into him, making a soft “Oh,” as he realizes why they’re all standing there. Mrs. McCall stares at each of them in turn before she raises an eyebrow.

“Do I need to remind you boys about the rules concerning wet clothes in the house?”

Liam feels a frown pull at his brows, his head tilting. “I don’t think—”

“Shoes off, anything wet _off_ ,” he opens his mouth to protest, “and yes, this means you too, Liam. And don’t bother trying to get embarrassed. I’m a nurse. I guarantee I’ve seen it all before, probably on someone old and wrinkly too.”

Face flaming, Liam nods. Around him, Scott is pulling his pulling off his snow-dampened hoodie—seriously, how had he not been _freezing_?—while Stiles is unbuckling his jeans, so he unzips his jacket. Fingers at the hem of his shirt for an internal count of three before pulling that over his head and putting it in the waiting hand Scott’s mom holds out to him. When she looks down at his shoes and jeans, he feels his face flush even darker, but kicks his shoes off and undoes his belt, stepping out of the pants, leaving him in just socks and underwear. A gentle breeze from the air-handling system runs over his still-wet back, and he shivers as goosebumps spring up all over his arms.

“Right,” Scott’s mom— _Melissa_ , Liam reminds himself, she’d told him to call her Melissa when Scott had introduced him to her as his beta—turns away, arms laden with clothes, “I’ll put these in the dryer. Scott,” she turns back to her son, levels him with a stare, “you know the drill.”

Liam watches her walk off as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had just happened—like she hadn’t just watched her son and son’s friends practically _strip_ in front of her. He must be staring, because Scott nudges him in the shoulder, flesh warm against Liam’s.

“I know, my mom is awesome,” he moves forward, Stiles already heading up the stairs. “C’mon, I probably have something that’ll fit you.”

Liam shivers again as they break contact and follow Stiles, though it’s not entirely from being cold and wet this time. Keeps shivering as they get to Scott’s room, slightly cooler because, apparently, the ventilation isn’t _quite_ as good at this end of the house. His goosebumps make a return, and his teeth actually start chattering as he hugs himself. Scott must hear, because he looks back at Liam at the same moment that Stiles locks himself in the adjoining bathroom and the shower starts.

“Crap, Liam, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say you were cold?”

“‘M n-not that c-c—” he gets out, but Scott’s already striding from the room, returning a moment later with a towel that he wraps around Liam’s shoulders. Liam sinks into the fluffy warmth, practically purring as he feels Scott start rubbing him through it, hands tracing over his back almost feverishly hot through the thick material. It feels good. _Really_ good, and—

He’s suddenly thankful that the towel is big enough that it at least hangs below his waist, because, yeah, wow, this is a really awkward time to get a boner. His dick doesn’t seem to care, though. He bows his head to hide his flaming cheeks and yellow eyes, but Scott’s fingertips trace over his jaw, pushing softly but insistently upward.

“Hey,” his alpha says lowly, smile somehow more gentle than even his hands had been—still are, “it’s alright, Liam. It happens.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed about stuff like that around me. Heck,” Scott’s mouth quirks at the corner, “it’s not like we’re on the lacrosse team together or anything.”

 _Oh_.

“Liam?”

“Can we never talk about this again?” he gets out in a rush, trying to smother himself. “Like, ever? Maybe just, uh, I don’t know, pretend this never happened?”

Scott’s laughter is soft, almost musical, as he pulls the towel from where Liam has it bunched around his neck, letting it drop to the floor. Never once moves the hand he’s now using to basically cup Liam’s jaw, the other hand landing on his shoulder. Forces their eyes to meet.

“If you want, but, Liam?” The smile disappears like a wisp of smoke, a light frown taking its place. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about things around me, okay? I’m your alpha,” the hand on his shoulder moves down to brush over his bicep before trailing back upwards, the gesture, the simple touch of his alpha’s skin on his, far more soothing than Liam wants it to be, “you can talk to me about anything. Tell me _anything_. I’ll still be here. No matter what.”

His eyelids blink over his vision several times before Liam is convinced this isn’t a dream.

“I don’t—”

“I know something’s been bothering you lately,” Scott cuts him off, a gentle pressure keeping Liam from turning his head away like he wants to so badly. “Whatever it is, I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you.”

It could end there. Scott’s words hang with a tone of finality, yet they still hang there, in the air, trapped, resonating off of Liam’s eardrums. And, though there was no command behind the simple reminder—is _never_ a command where Scott’s involved—he finds his mouth moving, forming words.

“I think I—I think I might be in love you.”

And _that_. That confession, all the confusion and doubt and fear, all string between them. It sends something cold down Liam’s spine, something that curls in his guts and _burns_. He can’t feel his heartbeat in his chest, can’t hear the steady thump-thump from Scott’s chest, and he’s convinced time must be standing still. That the entire universe has frozen to let invisible claws work their way into his heart, to worry and gnaw at his chest until his blood spills from the gaping wounds, warm and coppery and heavy, until his lungs collapse at long last and he can’t _breathe_ can’t think can’t do anything but gape in horror and—

Scott laughs.

“You _think_?”

Liam blinks. Everything, the tension and fear that’d all built up inside of him, had wound him tighter than even his mounting rage could ever manage, simply...vanishes.

Scott is _laughing_.

“I— _what_?”

The hand on his shoulder hauls him forward, the fingers tracing his cheek cupping the back of his neck to guide him to his alpha’s shoulder. It’s not until he’s got his arms braced in front of him, between two inhumanly warm chests, and his cheekbone smears something wet on Scott’s collarbone that he even realizes he’s started crying.

“You _think_ you love me?” Scott repeats the words, chuckling lowly as the hand he has on Liam’s neck trails up and—oh. Starts carding through his hair. _Petting_ him. Liam has to fight to keep from shivering as the gentle touch has him sagging against his alpha.

“No, I—” he tilts his head so that he’s speaking into the divot of Scott’s collarbone, “I, yeah, I do.”

Scott nods against the side of his head.

“I know.”

Liam feels his brows trying to furrow, feels the question build up in his throat, but surrenders instead to the soft touches Scott’s offering. Tilts his head until his nose is resting in the hollow of Scott’s throat. And maybe that gets him a giggle and a soft “Hey, _stop_ that, tickle monster,” but he stays anyway. And maybe Scott doesn’t actually make any move to push him away.

Besides, he’s still cold. And his alpha is _warm_. 

“Aww, how adorable.”

He doesn’t jump. He totally doesn’t. Although he _does_ maybe kind of sort of berate himself for being so wrapped up in Scott that he didn’t even notice the shower had apparently stopped at some point.

“Stiles,” Scott says, head tilting, neck stretching beneath Liam’s nose. There must be some sort of look on Scott’s face—either that or he and Stiles really _are_ telepathic, like Liam’s always suspected—because Stiles makes a sort of scoffing sound that has Liam lifting his head to glare at him.

“Christ, fucking _finally_.”

The glare drops when Stiles, apparently supremely unconcerned, waltzes over to Scott’s dresser and drops his towel—he’s not wearing anything underneath it—and leans over to rifle through the bottom drawer. Produces a pair of underwear and sweats that he tugs on with practiced ease. Turns back around with a smirk, making the helpless feeling in Liam’s gut build.

He looks back and forth between his alpha and Stiles.

“You both _knew_?”

Scott chuckles low enough that Liam can feel it in his own chest. Stiles, though, has no such restraint, and laughs out loud, coming to rest his elbow on Scott’s shoulder.

“Dude, you’ve been mooning after Scott since, like, not even a month after he turned you. God, it’s about freaking time. We were so sick and tired of you being all mopey— _ow_! Hey! Fragile human here!”

“What Stiles is trying to say,” Scott says with a grin, looking both supremely unrepentant for the elbow he’d just shot into Stiles’ ribs and supremely unaffected by the elbow Stiles gave him in return, “is that we were all worried something was eating you up inside, and we’re both glad that you felt you could trust us with something like this. So thank you.”

 

———

 

It’s not until Liam’s already taken a shower—”I’ll pick out something for you. Don’t worry, I think I’ve got some things in your size. Some of my old stuff’ll probably fit you.” “Dude, your shoulders were never that freakishly wide when you were sixt— _hey_! Did I forget to mention that thing about _fragile humans_!?”—and is pulling on the sweatshirt and pajama bottoms Scott had left on the counter that he remembers his question. The question that’d been on the tip of his tongue, but that he’d ignored in favor of being close to his alpha, of basking in the waves of support Scott had been giving off.

“What about you?”

He doesn’t even give the door time to finish its arc before he’s flinging the question to Scott where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, laptop spread across his thighs. His alpha looks up, quirking an eyebrow at him. On the bed, Stiles’ eyes roll in their sockets at Scott’s back; Scott reaches back and smacks his friend without even looking, earning him an annoyed sound.

“What _about_ me?”

Liam flushes, feels it stretching from halfway down his back up to his scalp and the tips of his ears.

“Do you, y’know,” he gestures between himself and Scott, then between Scott and Stiles, “do you think you might be able to, I mean, I—”

“Dο I love you, too?”

All Liam can do is nod. Scott sighs, closes his laptop and puts it away without answering. Strides over to where Liam is standing by the door to the bathroom, taking both his wrists in hand and slowly guiding him over to the bed. Liam may or may not make a soft sound of surprise when Scott pulls him down onto the bed, the mattress cramped with him sandwiched between the other two as he is. His alpha’s arms wind about him, and maybe he can’t help but lean into the touch, can’t help but cuddle—yes it’s cuddling, he can admit that—into Scott’s still-bare chest. Can’t help but hum when he feels a hand in his hair, Scott’s breath on his brow.

“You’re my beta, Liam.”

As if those words say everything. As if they mean everything.

 

———

 

He knows he drifts off into sleep at some point, caught between the two of them, because when he cracks his eyes again it’s dark save for the faint light coming from the door, outlining the shape of Melissa with a bundle of clothes in her arms. When she whispers her son’s name, slightly insistently, Liam figures that’s probably what woke him. He nuzzles further into Scott’s arms, feels them tighten around him. Likes to think that the embrace is protective, is supposed to somehow shelter him from the outside world. He closes his eyes again, just listening.

“Scott?”

“Mm, hi Mom.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. S’just a pack thing. ‘Sides, I think he still has nightmares sometimes, from the b’zerkers. He won’t tell me, but,” Liam feels him shrug.

“Alright. Just wanted to be sure. I’ll just leave these here, then.”

There’s a rustling as Scott mumbles a sleepy, “Thanks, Mom,” then soft footfalls moving back towards the door.

“By the way, Scott?”

“Hmm?”

“You all look very cute.”

A low chuckle reverberates through Liam’s cheek.

“Y’think so?”

“I do. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

Liam’s not sure whether or not he imagines the soft lips on his forehead.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some people were asking what's the deal with Malia and Kira. 
> 
> Welp.
> 
> ~~like the tags say basically everyone is gay~~

It nearly makes Liam’s head spin, how much things _don’t_ change after that first night. He and Scott and Stiles still hang out all the time. Still play games, horse around, play pranks on one another. Scott continues teaching him how to be a better werewolf, how to do things like trigger his healing or focus his senses to pick out fainter scents and sounds. Kira and Malia keep making dewy-eyes at each other until finally one day Stiles slams his hands down on their table at lunch and tells them to just get it over with. They all stare at him, and while Liam isn't necessarily surprised by the outburst, he is surprised that, the next day, Malia and Kira walk into school hand-in-hand, smelling like one another. Not that they had feelings for one another—that’s been obvious to anyone with eyes for _months_ —but that they actually _listened_. 

He's also surprised when, not even a week later, they both smell a hell of a lot like Lydia. And Lydia has bruises running the length of her neck. When Liam just stares at her, she flips a single strand of hair over her shoulder as if showing the marks off and rolling her eyes.

“What?” She sounds like she’s talking about whether it’s going to be cloudy or _partly_ cloudy. “Not all of us are gifted with fast healing.”

Sleeping with Scott—and sometimes Stiles—becomes regular enough that his parents actually ask where he's spending his nights. His mom maybe starts dropping hints that he has a secret girlfriend. He maybe hates how crushed she looks when she tells him he’s just staying over with Scott. When he tells them, though, that being near his alpha—he’d told them about werewolves and the things that go bump in the night last summer—helps keep the nightmares at bay, they let it go. Maybe his stepdad has a sort of knowing in his eyes that Liam’s more accustomed to getting from Scott, as if he can see right through the bravado he usually tries to project, can tell just what _exactly_ these late night cuddle piles mean.  

However, the feeling of waking most days in his alpha’s arms makes it all worth it. The lazy warmth, the way their legs are usually tangled together in a knot; the scent of _Scott_ filling his nose where he’s usually been tucked face-first underneath his alpha’s chin. The way Scott seems to always blink from sleep not five minutes after him, offering a gravelly, “Mornin’, Liam,” and a sleep-drunk smile, leaning down to nose at the hollow behind his ear. How Scott clearly knows that _tickles_ , especially when he breathes deeply, but still does it anyway.

It’s the same with the comfort those arms offer whenever he wakes in the middle of the night, heart pounding, breath frozen in his lungs, mouth shaping a silent scream of terror. When visions of a blood-spattered bear skull creep out of the dark corners, the heavy footsteps and ragged breathing filling his mind as the scent of death cloys around him, washing everything else away until all he can think all he knows is that _death is coming for him and he can’t stop it it’s coming oh god he can’t_ —

The first time it’d happened, Liam had curled around himself at the head of the bed, his heartbeat measured in the too-fast rushing of blood past his ears, his chest too tight, his limbs locked in place, trying to escape the dark shapes reaching out of the shadows. Hadn’t even realized that it wasn’t his room, that the bed smelled completely different, that the walls weren’t even the same color and _why is there a bathroom over there_. But then there had been hands on his arms. Not clawed with bones that ripped and tore until he was nothing but tatters, but soft fingertips skating over his skin, warm and soothing and _real_. As soon as he’d grasped onto that anchor, that basis in reality, he’d let himself fall apart, be caught by the two pair of arms that’d encircled him. Had let the gentle words and reassurances flow over him until his cramping limbs unfolded themselves, until his eyes dried and he’d become a boneless heap in Scott and Stiles’ embrace.

Neither of them had said anything about it the next day, nor had they treated him differently. Hadn’t after the second time, or the fifth time. Had barely even acknowledged it except to give him very level, very uncompromising stares when he’d suggested that he not spend the night as often so he wouldn’t disturb them.

“But that way you guys can have more time together,” he argues with them, not for the first time. He tries again to get around Scott and off his alpha’s bed to pack up his things for the night, the clock blinking three minutes until midnight. “You really don’t have to spend all your time taking care of me—”

“Liam,” Scott’s eyes are glowing crimson when Liam manages to swallow and meet them, “we _want_ to. You’re my beta. You’re _pack_. We help one another.”

“Malia—” he starts, but this time it’s Stiles who cuts him off.

“Malia has Kira and Lydia, dumbass. She _wants_ help from them. You _need_ help from us.”

There’s not exactly anything Liam can say against that because, well...Stiles is right. He sighs, resignation a weight in his stomach.

“But what about you two?”

Both his friends’ brows furrow, glancing at each other before back at him, Scott opening his mouth to speak.

“What about us?”

He gestures between them somewhat helplessly, trying to communicate his meaning without words. When he continues to get nothing but blank looks, he lets a guttural noise work its way from his throat.

“You two. How you’re. Y’know. _Together_.”

“And?” Because, apparently, they enjoy switching off.

“ _And_ ,” Liam grits out, “you know I have feelings for Scott.” He casts his gaze specifically at Stiles, something warm and coiling gathering in his guts when he lets the words out into the open air. “Doesn’t...aren’t you worried that it’ll, I dunno, complicate things between you or something?”

When he continues to get incredulous stares, he hurriedly adds, “I don’t want you two to fight or anything because of me.”

Both of them blink at him once. Twice. Practically in sync. Then swap looks Liam can’t read.

“You _definitely_ know how to pick ‘em Scotty.”

“Stiles—”

“Hey, not my fault he doesn’t—”

“Dude.”

“I _know_ , but, I mean, _seriously_ —?”

“ _Stiles_ , come _on_ —”

“If you’re not going to—”

“Hey! No, we talked about—”

“I don’t _care_ , he’s obviously not gonna—”

“Guys!” Liam feels his face pink as both of his friends swivel to face him. “I’m _right here_ , you know. Just,” he kneads at his temple, feels the anger bubbling just beneath the surface and beats it back with a kind of savage determination, “speak in whole sentences or something? Please?”

After a few moments of swapping expressions, Stiles makes a sort of ‘go on’ motion at Scott. Scott just rolls his eyes until they settle on Liam, elbowing Stiles in the side as he does.

“Liam, look. It’s not a problem,” a single shuffling motion across the bed has him practically invading Liam’s space, and Liam has to fight to keep himself rooted to the spot, to not back up or lean forward. “We like having you around. And you need our help. We _want_ to help you.”

“But—”

The pad of Scott’s finger on his lips is warm, sends jolts of electricity racing down his spine, radiating outward and down from the single point of contact.

“No buts. Just,” something in his alpha’s face turns almost pleading, “stay? Let us? Please?”

He doesn’t remember giving his neck permission to nod, or the small noise that works its way from his throat permission to exist, but his body doesn’t seem to be entirely under his control. Not that it matters. He melts freely into the arms that wrap themselves around him, that steer his head towards the pillows. Is aware on some level of his jeans being removed but his shirt and boxers being left untouched. Until, that is, he lazily tries to pull an arm in through the sleeve of his shirt and his elbow gets stuck halfway. The garment vanishes after that with a soft chuckle.

Scott’s skin is warm on his front, Stiles’ on his back, and drowsiness covers him like a wool blanket. He curls into his alpha’s chest, safety and security covering him with the scent of _pack_ that his entire world has become.

He may or may not hear Stiles mumbling something about “I swear to god he’s actually purring,” but he ignores it.

 

———

 

Not even a month later, a letter comes in the mail for Scott. The logo in the top corner features a book trapped in a circle with a banner swirling around it proclaiming “Let There Be Light”. Far more telling, though, are the words that run around the edge of the circle: “University of California.” Liam can only watch with rising dread as Scott does a double-take at the front door before rushing into the house. Follows his alpha into the kitchen without taking off his shoes, letting a single strap of his backpack fall from his shoulder and stopping just behind where Scott’s standing. He’s already extended a single claw and is ripping through the seam of the envelope.

A veritable book of paper materials fall onto the kitchen island, with a single, folded sheet resting on top. Scott darts down, grabs at it and scans it, lips forming soundless words. Not three of Liam’s too-quick heartbeats later, his face splits into a wide grin and he whoops, doing a child-like dance around the island. Pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits a single key, and Liam doesn’t need to have werewolf hearing to know it’s Stiles on the other end with the way they’re shouting.

“Dude! Stiles! I got in!”

“Holy shitballs, me too! I just got my letter!”

“Me too!”

“Dude, this is so awesome! Oh my god, this is gonna be suh- _weet_ —”

Something is rising up Liam’s throat, a pressure that builds and builds until he’s sure he’s going to have to scream or explode just to let it out. He turns away, shoving his backpack back into place, and taking two steps back towards the front door, his shoes echoing on the hardwood. He can smell Scott’s happiness—like honey on a summer breeze—filling the kitchen, twisting at something in his chest, and he...he _can’t_. He can’t do it.

“Liam?”

On a sort of intellectual level, he knew—understood—that most of his pack was graduating this year. That most of them are leaving in just a few short months. Yet, for some reason, he’d always thought… Always _hoped_ …

“Li’, hey, wait up.”

Like always, there is no command in the words, not alpha authority bleeding through. Liam’s body just...obeys on its own. Follows Scott the way he always has. The way he always will. He looks down, glancing behind him where Scott’s dropped the phone from his ear, eyes settled on his back.

“Congratulations.”

The word is choked, like he’s having to spit it out through layers of cotton.

“Liam, are you...okay?”

The question makes the twisting thing in his chest coil tighter, and Liam almost wants to let out the hollow laugh behind his tongue at just how sincere, how _worried_ Scott sounds.

“I’m fine.”

A sour taste floods his mouth. His heart is suddenly hammering in his throat, in his skull.

“I just need to—”

“Liam.”

A hand wraps itself around his arm, trailing down to grip lightly at his wrist. Liam’s entire body stiffens and shakes. He hadn’t heard Scott move across the room to him. Behind him, there’s a single, faint sound of a fingertip striking plastic.

“Don’t lie to me. Please.”

“I’m not lying,” he insists, still not able to turn around, not even bothering to keep track of his own heart rate at this point. “I just need to go.” He lets his gaze fall to the floor, his eyes slipping shut around a low burn building at their corners. “Please.”

Scott’s grip on his wrist bears down. Hard, but not painful.

“ _Liam_.”

The anger tries to flare, tries to rear its head like it always does at the worst possible moments, but the moment Liam sees Scott’s eyes, still human, still that deep brown he could— _would_ , gladly—drown in, it fades. Turns to something cold and jagged that tears through him. Something that wriggles its way up his throat.

“No.”

When he tries to move away again, Scott doesn’t stop him. Liam doesn’t hear him do anything even as he opens the front door and flings himself out of it. Doesn’t hear his alpha behind him as he lets his feet pound the pavement, guiding him back to his house. Doesn’t sense anything at all to tell him Scott is there, although a part of him is convinced—just _knows_ —that he’s following him anyway. The same part is half-expecting Scott to be perched outside his window when he gets to his room—and maybe something small drops in his stomach when he sees the empty pane of glass—and throws his bag to the floor, collapsing on his bed.

The sheets that had once smelled comforting, familiar, instead smell _wrong_. Missing something...something absolutely _vital_. It only takes him a few seconds to place what it is.

They don’t smell like home. Not anymore.

When he rolls over, he can smell something faint, the missing piece, but it vanishes the moment he moves away for too long. He writhes around, trying to locate the source, until he rests his head on top of his arm, panting lightly. Blinks a few times, inhales deeply to make sure, before staring down at himself.

Strips his shirt off and buries his nose in it, and—there it is.

His sheets don’t just not smell like home. They don’t smell like Scott. Like his alpha.

(His mind may or may not refuse to consider the two ideas as being connected)

He tries to get comfortable, tries to quiet his mind and _relax_. Instead, he can’t seem to stop his brain from focusing on the fact that his alpha is _leaving_ , the knowledge filling his veins like tar. It leaves a litany of thoughts in its wake—

( _He’s leaving you he doesn’t really care about you and why would he what are you compared to the other people in his life to his mother to stiles nothing nothing you’re nothing._ )

—that grows louder and louder no matter how he contorts himself on the once-familiar mattress.

“Fuck this,” he mutters to no one in particular, shoving down the urge to make a pained sound when he throws the shirt across the room and into his hamper. Pushes himself from the bed to grab another and some track pants from his dresser.

Right now, what he needs is to run.

 

———

 

He starts by following the sidewalks. Familiar paths he’s tread many times before. Lets himself get lost in his mind, his feet guiding him where they will, concentrates only on keeping his breathing steady and his legs moving. Each time, though, he ends up at the same place: the one place he absolutely does _not_ want to be. The one place he _can’t_ be right now.

The third time he finds himself at the end of Scott’s driveway, he growls low under his breath and takes off into the woods.

Branches scrape and pull at his clothes, at his skin, but he ignores them, keeps running, dirt and leaves and dead plants crunching under his shoes. He’s trying to get lost, trying to lose himself, to leave his racing mind behind. Jumps over fallen logs, falls into a hidden streambed once but just rolls with the motion, coming back up with mud streaking his arms and cheek and hair.

He smells the rain minutes before it actually starts to fall. Wills away the feeling of cold wetness on his skin, blinks away the dirt and sweat running into his eyes. Focuses just on keeping his feet moving, on his heartbeat, on his lungs as they pull and push air from his body. Can’t let himself think about anything else, just drowns everything in the beat pounding past his ears and the fire creeping up his legs. A fallen tree looms through the rain, blurring into existence, suspended between two others, and Liam makes the split-second decision to just go over it rather than sliding under. His foot catches on a branch, though, and he twists in the air, body trying to correct, and—

And comes down on a patch of mud that slips his feet from under him, his ankle turning in a way it was never meant to. He doesn’t hear it crack or break so much as he feels something...snap. Pain lances up his whole body, and he cries out as his leg buckles beneath him.

He lands face-first in the mud. Of course. Just lies there, letting the rain pelt his back while thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, lifting his head up and spitting dirt from between his teeth. The muddy leaves blur until he blinks, and it’s only when his entire body heaves once, twice, that Liam even realizes that the pressure building in his chest, the shaking in his limbs, isn’t cold or rage. That the streams of liquid running down his face aren’t just rain.

He’s _crying_.

Over Scott.

He shouts into the earth, trying to vent some of the pressure, and loses himself to it. Props himself up on his knees and flings his head skyward, screaming, rain getting in his eyes. The storm rolling in absorbs it all, thunder suturing the sound to silence in its wake. His fangs drop, claws extending to cut into his fists, and his eyes burn with a deeper fire of the shift until he’s howling, _roaring_ back, trying almost desperately to get this pressure, this _pain_ , out of his system, to not feel like he’s about to _explode_ , like everything around him is about to cave in on top of his head.

( _He’s leaving you he’s leaving Scott’s leaving he’s_ —)

“Liam.”

His alpha’s voice is so soft he almost doesn’t hear it.

( _Liar Scott could be halfway across the world and you’d still hear him_.)

Liam tries to stand and turn towards the sound, the shift melting away in surprise as he does. Fire races up his leg, singeing his nerves, and he cries out—a human sound this time—and goes down again. An instant later, there are hands on his shoulders, pulling him up, handling him gently. He has to fight not to shiver from the warmth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ankle,” he grits out through clenched teeth, keeping his gaze away from his alpha’s face, focusing instead on the rain-soaked tree trunks around them. “Think I tore something.”

His eyes wander to the roots that peek into existence, a shallow imitation of the ones that anchor them deep into the earth. Distantly, he remember hearing somewhere—bio?—that their root systems go as deep as the tree is tall. Because without such a strong anchor, they’d fall under their own weight.

He wonders how long he’ll last under his own.

“Are you healing?”

A quick test of his foot reveals that it still hurts, but not as badly. A quick, bright flash of pain followed by a low, smouldering heat. He nods.

“I think so.”

“Can you walk?”

He has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can shake his head.

“Then lean on me. We’re getting you home.”

“Scott,” Liam croaks, still can’t look, “I—I don’t—”

Can’t make himself say it. That he doesn’t want to go home, he wants to go _home_ : wherever Scott is. His legs lock up, but Scott seems to already know, turning and lowering them both until he feels the wet earth cold against his knees. One of the hands on his shoulder moves up to his cheek, thumb brushing grittily at the dirt still there, and brings him face to face with his alpha.

“We’re not going away, Li’.”

He can’t help it. He laughs. There’s no humor in the sound.

“So you and Stiles are both gonna turn down the University of freaking California? Scott, the UC system is one of the best in the country. You can’t tell me—”

“No, _Liam_ ,” Scott’s laughing now, shocking him into silence. He sounds... _relieved_ , something warm, something patient sparkling in his eyes. “We applied to their new campus. It’s only about thirty minutes away.”

His mouth flaps soundlessly for a moment before Liam manages to croak out a soft, “Wha—”

“You didn’t think we’d leave you here all alone, did you?” Scott’s smile tightens at the corners, something sad flitting behind his eyes before he leans forward and wraps Liam in a hug. Liam can’t do anything but stare, eventually letting his eyes slide closed and sinking into the hold. Nuzzles into his alpha’s neck—“Ha-hey! That _tickles_! We’ve talked about this!”—as he lets his arms wrap low around Scott’s middle. The rain on their skin can’t cover up the scent of _home_.

His shoulders shake as a noise works itself from his throat, and he can feel Scott’s hand moving over his back.

“We’re not going anywhere, Li’. You’ll be okay.”

As he nods against his alpha’s skin, he could almost swear he feels roots growing from where his knees are sinking into the mud.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday right? Well, it's 12:34am on Saturday. Close enough. 
> 
> This chapter refused to end. Seriously.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also holy shit it's sitting at exactly 13k words wow~~

The first time he really lets himself think about it, Liam is seventeen.

“Do you think it’s possible to be in love with more than one person?”

Malia rolls her eyes at him, licking her spoon clean of yogurt before diving in for more.

“You mean do I think Scott can love you _and_ Stiles.”

Maybe he feels his face heat, the bag of orange slices his mom had not-so-subtly sneaked into his lunch—“Vitamin C helps fight off infections, dear.” “Mom, seriously, I’m a _werewolf_ , I can’t—” “ _And_ you’re my teenaged son who’s hardly ever around anymore, so take the oranges and let me feel like your mother for a few minutes, okay?” “...Okay.”—doing little to act as a shield against the way Malia’s staring at him.

“Why d’you ask that?”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I, uh—”

“Look. Liam,” Malia rolls her eyes again, pausing as she swallows another spoonful of yogurt, “I might’ve been held back a year, but I’m not stupid.”

Another spoonful. Liam huffs into his orange slices, tossing them on the table between them and unwrapping his sandwich. Malia grabs one and uses it in lieu of her spoon, biting the end off. It’s Liam’s turn to roll his eyes as she frowns, looking down at her yogurt and the apparently offending fruit.

“Remind me to never again mix strawberry yogurt and...oranges?”

“Don’t mix strawberry yogurt and oranges,” he mimics, feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth against his will. “I woulda thought you learned that messing around with food as a kid.”

Malia gives him a considering look, gaze flat, before shrugging.

“Nah. Most of my food knowledge up until last year—” the ‘before Scott found me’ goes unsaid, “—consisted of what kind of meat tastes best raw.”

The bite of his sandwich turns sour, and Liam has to force himself to keep chewing and swallow it down.

“...Right.”

“But,” Malia’s armed herself with her spoon again, retrieving it from her tray and waving it in Liam’s direction, “with loving more than one person, I happen to be, how would Stiles say it? Something of an expert.”

He doesn’t miss the way her eyes dart to the side, almost wistfully.

“I’m sorry,” his hand moves across the table, palm up, and she smiles as she settles her own inside of it. “I didn’t think—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Malia’s smile is forced, but there’s a steely resolve beneath it, one of the things Liam’s always admired about her. “I mean, I miss them, sure, but...Lydia got a full ride to MIT. I wasn’t going to make her give that up for me. And neither was Kira.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, UCLA isn’t exactly walking distance, either.”

He gets a shrug. Malia pulls her hand back to scrape the bottom of her yogurt cup, trying to work out the last few bits. That done, she lifts it to her face and actually licks into it. Liam just tries not to giggle; some things never change, even after almost two years. Only when she’s got as much out as her addiction demands—he still has no idea what happened between her, Kira, and Lydia to make her love the stuff so much—she tosses it in the trash at the end of the table. Makes the shot, of course. Pulls another cup out of her bag, this one raspberry flavored.

“No, it isn’t,” she says conversationally as she rips the top off. “But at least it is travelling distance. So don’t angst your little heart out for bringing it up. Like you always do. By the way,” Liam snaps his mouth shut, raising his eyebrows, “yes, I know it’s possible. _But_ ,” she brandishes the spoon at him again, the white plastic looking far more threatening in her hands that it has any right to, “I think you’re looking at this from the wrong angle.”

Confusion curls in his gut.

“Okay, I have to ask. How so?”

The smirk she gives him should be trademarked, he thinks.

“Because, instead of asking yourself whether or not it’s _possible_ for one person to love more than one—or, I suppose,” she props her elbows on the table and looks off to the side with a sarcastic kind of curiosity so much like Lydia he almost does a double-take, “if _Scott_ could _possibly_ love both you and Stiles—maybe you should instead be asking the same thing about yourself.”

And no matter how he tries to ask her, she won’t elaborate. Not even when he promises to bring her a whole crate of yogurt.

 

———

 

He bikes over to Scott’s house as soon as the bell rings. Stiles’ Jeep is in the driveway, of course, and he leans his bike against the side of the house before ringing the doorbell. There’s movement on the other side, coming down the steps, before Scott opens the door. Liam has to keep himself from blushing when his alpha pulls him into a hug by way of greeting.

“Dude, why don’t you just come up to my window anymore?”

He blinks, then pushes gently until Scott gets the message and pulls back far enough to see the raised eyebrow Liam’s giving him.

“Er, remember what happened the last time your mom caught me doing that?”

Scott’s gaze goes distant for all of a half-second before he grins.

“Oh right. That was hilarious.”

“Yeah, hilarious, right,” Liam kicks his shoes off as Scott leads him inside, jumping on the stairs ahead of his alpha, “because I really enjoy nothing more than your mom giving me ‘The Talk’ because she thinks I’m sneaking into your room.”

“Technically,” Stiles pipes up from where he’s got several textbooks spread around him, “you _were_ sneaking into his room.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Liam feels his face flame, “but not for,” he flails, getting an eyebrow waggle from Stiles and a laugh from Scott, “ _that_. And shut up. Help me with my homework, assholes.”

He unceremoniously drops his backpack on the bed, causing the mattress to jump and several of Stiles’ papers to slide away. Scott just laughs harder as Stiles squawks indignantly.

“Dude! Not cool! See if I help you with your precalc, why don’t you? Little rage monster.”

Even though he knows— _knows_ , from a _lot_ of experience at this point—that it’s Stiles, that it’s just Stiles’ sense of humor, the barb makes his stomach clench. Scott, _of course_ , is there before he can even think about it, a hand on his arm.

“Hey, no, Li’, he didn’t mean it that way.”

Stiles looks up from where he’s gathering his papers into their appropriate stacks. Must see something either in his face or Scott’s, because he drops them back on the bed and climbs forward, pushing several stacks out of the his way.

“Hey, no, Liam, I didn’t, I’m,” his face screws up as he looks to the side for a split-second, “I’m sorry, alright?”

There’s a beat of silence, then Stiles sighs and climbs off the bed, coming around to Liam’s other side. Liam barely manages to contain his surprise when...yeah, that’s _definitely_ Stiles hugging him.

“I didn’t mean it. You’re not a little rage monster,” he’s speaking into Liam’s hair, ruffling it playfully. “Although, if you were, you’d be an adorable little rage monster.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Liam can feel Scott punch his friend in the arm, can hear the smile in his words, “enough.”

“No, it’s,” he swallows past the lump of...whatever’s built up in his throat, “it’s fine. Really.” Lets his face twist into a grin as he looks up at Stiles. “But now you _have_ to help me.”

And, wow, their faces are really close. Close enough that he can count the moles on Stiles’ face, could probably describe the shape of each individual one. Close enough that if he were to just lean forward and let his lips follow where his eyes are tracking, they could just—

Stiles laughs in his face, breaking the moment. Pulls back and falls onto the mattress carelessly.

“Alright you little extortionist. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“What about me?” Scott pouts from Liam’s side, pulling him back until Liam’s trying very hard _not_ to think about the fact that his back is basically flush with Scott’s front. “Don’t I get any help?”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Oh, come here.”

Liam’s back is suddenly cold as Scott practically skips around to the side of the bed, leaning over when Stiles reaches for him, their lips brushing.

“ _You_ ,” Liam can barely hear his whisper even with his enhanced hearing, “don’t need to extort _any_ thing.”

The sight makes something warm bloom in his chest, and he nearly starts at the difference. In the past, seeing Stiles and Scott together had always made him feel…empty, in a way. Cold. Jealous. Like his wolf was clawing to be let out and tear Stiles away from _his_ alpha. But, now?

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, “maybe she was right.”

 

———

 

“So, what’s it like?”

Malia looks up from where she’s propped at the head of his bed, textbook in her lap and yellow highlighter in hand.

“What’s what like?”

Liam groans, rolling over until he’s facing the ceiling. He rubs at his eyes with one hand, the other flung wide in a stretch.

“Loving more than one person.”

He can’t see her with his eye covered, lying sideways on the bed as he is, but he can hear Malia scoff, can imagine the way she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“You interrupted my history study time to ask me about this again?”

“Hey, in my defense,” Liam drops his hand, lets it thunk against the mattress, and cranes his neck until he’s looking at her again, “last time I just asked you if it was _possible_. This time I’m asking what it’s actually like. Y’know,” he gestures at her, “from, like, personal experience and stuff, I guess.”

“Oh my god,” she rubs a hand over her face—she may or may not get a smear of yellow on her cheek, but Liam’s not about to be the one to tell her—and practically glares at him, “is this what you’re like _every day_ with Stiles and Scott? Don’t you want to _pass_?”

“Obvious deflection is obvious, Malia.”

He barely manages to dodge the kick she sends his way, rolling off onto the floor with a thud. When he climbs back up, she’s gone back to her book, green in her hand this time, the yellow one clutched between her teeth.

“Malia…”

“Look,” she spits the highlighter onto the bedspread, “when you said you wanted me to come over so we could study instead of you hanging out with your boyfriends—”

“They’re not my boyfriends,” he interjects, but she continues anyway, practically steamrolling over his words.

“—then I thought we were gonna actually, y’know, _study_. I have a test tomorrow and I _really_ need all the help I can get. And Lydia’s not here to lend me her notes and I _really_ don’t want to get held back a second time and—”

“Malia,” he jumps up on the bed when her eyes start to glow, taking her hands in his. The action just feels...right, somehow. Like the thing he should do. A member of his pack is hurting, and he needs to _fix it_.

“—and I just,” she trails off and sags forward, elbows on her book. “I just really want Lydia or Kira to be here right now. Sorry,” she adds quickly, voice distorted by the bedspread, “it’s not that you’re not good enough or anything, it’s just not—”

“—the same,” he finishes for her. “It’s fine. I...I understand, I think. I’m sorry for pushing.”

“No, I, it’s fine,” he hears Malia take a breath before she pulls herself back up. There are no tears on her face, but Liam can smell the unshed ones she blinks back just fine. “I guess I’m just...stressed. And needed to get that out.”

Neither of them say anything for a few moments, Liam just holding her hands, trying to let her know that he’s there. Like a good friend, obviously. Or good packmate, whatever. It’s, he tells himself, what Mason would do for him in the same situation.

“It’s different for each of them.”

Liam jumps slightly when she speaks.

“Huh?” Yeah, really intelligent.

“It’s different with each person. How I love Lydia and Kira, I mean,” Malia clarifies, finding his eyes. “Kira’s amazing and beautiful and, uh,” she blushes, looking away for a moment, “ _really_ good to me. She’s brave, and always supports me, and always helps me. Lydia is...not Kira. She’s lots of those things, yeah, but she can be a bit...distant at times. She sometimes has an odd way of showing she cares. But she does.”

“I heard about Allison,” Liam offers when Malia lapses back into silence, but she shakes her head.

“You don’t get it. She didn’t just lose Allison. She _loved_ Allison. Like, the way you hear about in fairy tales.” She takes a breath, then, “She still does, I think. I don’t think she’ll ever be able to stop, really.”

Liam’s not sure what to say—what he _can_ say—to that, so he remains quiet again. Thankfully, Malia doesn’t take long to start talking again, voice low.

“She loves us, just. We’re not Allison.” A shrug. “Like I said, it’s different for everyone. But, I mean, I know that I love them both. It’s not a competition or anything, just,” another shrug, “it’s different.”

This time, it’s his mom who breaks the silence, knocking on his door to see if they need anything. When he’s managed to convince her that, no, they’re fine, they’re just studying, they’re _fine_ , _really_ , he turns back to Malia from where he’s shut his door.

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Mm,” she hums, a small grin reappearing. “For what, shorty?”

He rolls his eyes—he still hasn’t figured out if she means it as an insult or a pet name—before picking up his books from where they’d fallen from his movements on the bed.

“For talking to me.”

She scoffs at him.

“Right. What’re friends for?”

It’s his turn to shrug.

“I know, just...still. Thanks.”

“Oh my god, _stop_ ,” he feigns injury when Malia leans over and punches him in the arm, both of them laughing. “Just, I promise I won’t tell them, alright? Scott and Stiles?”

Instead of thanking her—she lifts a fist threateningly when he goes to shape the word—he just nods.

“C’mon, shorty,” she beckons him towards the head of the bed, clearing out a spot for him at her side, “we have tests to pass.”

 

———

 

Liam smells him the second he steps foot in Scott’s house. The familiar stench of arrogance and sweat and some understated cologne he’s sure is supposed to be alluring. The only thing that keeps him from shifting on the spot and following the scent to its source is the blanket of calm, of _Scott_ , practically oozing from every surface, telling Liam his alpha is here as well. He kicks his shoes off by the door before taking too-heavy steps into the kitchen, following his nose.

“What the fuck’s he doing here?” He flings the words at Scott like knives, heedless of the low thrum of voices that falls silent at his outburst, or the way Scott and Brett’s heads both turn towards him. Over at the kitchen table, Stiles makes a restrained, huffing sort of laughter.

“Told you he wouldn’t take it well.”

Scott’s looking between Liam and Brett with an expression Liam can’t identify. He nearly starts, though, when he realizes that the scent of anxiety is thick in the room. And it isn’t coming from Scott. His eyes swivel over to Brett, widening slightly.

“Satomi—my alpha sent me,” Brett tells him, eyes darting to Liam’s face, away, and back, all of the haughty arrogance absent as his shoulders hunch in on themselves. “It—she wants to form an alliance between our packs. Sent me to join yours as a sign of trust.”

Fear grips Liam’s guts then, cold and sudden, gaze moving to Scott.

“Does that mean—”

Scott’s brow furrows before his spine suddenly straightens. In less time than it takes Liam to blink, Scott is suddenly _right there_ , hands on his shoulders, grip near-bruising, eyes wide.

“No, Liam, _no_ , don’t even think it.”

“But,” he chokes the word out past the lump freezing in his throat, “but if you’re exchanging members of your packs, then—”

“It’s not usually done,” Brett’s voice is low, “but I volunteered. Scott’s not under any obligation to return the favor.”

Liam’s eyes hold his alpha’s, trying to find the truth in them. Red pupils draw out his own yellow, blazing against one another until Liam could swear he hears the roaring of some kind of massive fire in his head. When Scott speaks, though, he can hear every word as clearly as if they were being whispered against the shell of his ear.

“I would _never_ , Liam. _Never_.”

They stay locked like that, and at some point Liam becomes aware of the fact that he’s dropped to the floor, his back against the wall. Brett is standing behind his Scott, looking down at him, expression still stretched and worried, but there’s something else there now: something almost like hope.

“Liam,” Scott’s voice draws him away, back down, “are you okay with this?”

It hits him, then. Why Brett is so anxious. The way Scott’s looking at him, face open, receptive to whatever words next come out of his mouth.

Scott’s not going to take Brett unless Liam agrees.

He feels a flash of vindictive pleasure race through him, lips quirking into what he’s sure looks nothing like a smile. Here, he has the power over Brett, has the power to—

 _Then get up_.

His lungs freeze as the memory washes over him, whatever expression he’d been wearing washing away.

Brett knocking him down. Brett picking him back up again—figuratively if not literally. Brett, someone with every reason to hate Liam, never mind that Scott had saved what was left of his pack, _helping_ him. _Caring_. Maybe not for all the right reasons or in all the right ways, but maybe not all the wrong ones either.

_But you’re okay, right?_

Before he can bother to think about it, he nods, eyes falling to his hands where they’re apparently twisted together in his lap.

“Yeah, sure.”

 

———

 

That evening, Scott calls a pack meeting. Which is to say, Malia comes over while Kira and Lydia join them on skype. He announces Brett’s decision to join and the alliance between their pack and Satomi’s, all while Malia rolls her eyes and the keys of Lydia’s laptop click just at the range of Liam’s hearing.

“Welcome,” Lydia flashes her teeth in what Liam has come to know as her ‘scary smile’—the one she has to know is more intimidating than friendly. “If I come home to find out you’ve hurt my friends or my girlfriend— _especially_ my girlfriend—we will make sure they never find your body, pack or not.”

In her own window, Kira lets her eyes flash orange as she smirks.

Brett doesn’t quite flinch, but Liam can hear him swallow loudly and his heart rate skip a beat.

Once the meeting is over, though, and Stiles has left to drive Malia back to her house, Brett doesn’t move, back ramrod still straight where he’s been perched on the couch. He doesn’t look at them. Scott raises an eyebrow at Liam, Liam just sending him a shrug in answer, before collapsing heavily onto the couch like a freaking kid, bouncing Brett sideways with a soft yelp.

Okay, maybe Liam can’t help it. He snickers under his breath.

“So, feel like sharing what’s wrong?” Scott’s being his usual concerned self, of course. As if he could be anything else. Liam settles on the opposite arm of the couch, so he and his alpha are flanking their new arrival. He watches as Brett glances back at him before looking back to Scott and clearing his throat.

“I, uh, I don’t exactly have a place to stay in town. I, um, might’ve,” he glances back at Liam again, “told my parents your mom had okayed me staying with you.”

Liam blinks. Blinks again. Feels his face twist as something between anger and annoyance tightens in his guts. He can feel the weight of Scott’s gaze on him, though, so he lets his head droop, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose, focusing, replaying his mantra— _three things not long hidden_ —through his mind and visualizing Scott’s smiling face.

He feels the tightness in his stomach fade, and meets Brett’s eyes.

“They’d probably be more okay with that if I actually stayed there most nights. And, y’know,” he lets a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, “if you’d actually asked.”

“You can stay here,” Scott says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like the declaration doesn’t make Liam feel like he’s been dunked in ice water, though his alpha’s eyes seem to be somewhere else when he continues speaking. “We have a spare room across the hall from mine. It hasn’t been used in a while, and I’m sure my mom would be fine with you staying there.”

“It’s fine,” Melissa calls from the kitchen, making Liam jump and bringing his alpha back from wherever he’d gone. “If your father has an issue he can take it up with me.”

“Thanks, Mom!” Scott smiles, the expression hitting Liam full-on and stealing his breath away. “You’re the best!”

“Just make sure you explain the ground rules, young man! I will not stand for claw marks around the windows and on the roof again!”

 

———

 

Liam goes through his normal night-time routine, changing out of his jeans and listening for the sink to switch off. Slides past Scott as his alpha exits, ducking his head as per usual when Scott smiles at him and ruffles his hair in passing, mint-tinged breath ghosting over his skin. Brushes his teeth almost mindlessly, robotically, until he finishes and stands back up straight, frowning at his reflection. Something is missing. The relative silence once the sound of running water disappears nearly deafens him, and it’s only then that it clicks into place.

“Where’s Stiles?” he asks as he flips the bathroom light off and shuts the door behind him, crawling obligingly under the covers where Scott’s holding them up for him. He doesn’t get an answer until Scott’s arms are around him. He could swear he feels his alpha’s lips brush against the back of his neck, but it could also be his imagination.

“Malia’s having a rough night, apparently. He texted me to say he wouldn’t be coming back tonight.”

There’s nothing Liam can think to say to that except a soft, “Oh. Okay.”

It’s not like they haven’t spent the night together alone before. The first time, Stiles’ dad took him out on a week-long trip, just the two of them. He’d given Scott a look that Liam couldn’t—still can’t—identify, and had only told Scott that he trusted him to take care of “your little baby beta without me.” Hell, he’d gone so far as to tell Liam he was going to “miss you hogging Scott and the sheets all night,” and had topped it all off by _hugging_ him.

It’s not like there’s anything sexual about it. Oh, sure, Liam’s a horny 17-year-old, and, sure, there’s are certain parts of him that react to being in Scott’s presence like this, but it’s so much more than that. 

Besides, Scott’s never made any indication that he feels the same way beyond his vague “you’re my beta, Liam.”. And Liam is a selfish bastard willing to take whatever he can get. So he settles into Scott’s hold, shifting until his ear is against his alpha’s chest. Until his heartbeat syncs with the steady staccato beneath him, Scott’s arms a comfortable, familiar weight around his midsection. Until the scents of _alpha_ and _home_ fill his mind, blotting out everything else. Until he feels sleep clawing at the edge of his consciousness and he surrenders, slowly sinking beneath its depths without fear of nightmares.

“Scott? Liam?”

Liam’s entire body jerks, and he only realizes once he’s sitting up with his fangs bared at the intruder that it’s just Brett. Brett who he can see, even in the scant moonlight from the window, looks...lost. He also may or may not look...really good in just the sweats he’s wearing. Liam can admit that, he tells himself as he looks away, jaw twitching as his fangs recede.

“Brett?” Scott sounds about as sleep-drunk as he felt a few moments ago, the mattress dipping as his alpha shifts around behind him. “Wha’s wrong?”

Brett shuffles from one foot to the other, not looking at them, before he mutters something too low for Liam to hear even with his enhanced senses.

“Brett,” he sucks in a sigh, rubbing at one of his eyes, “what is it?”

When no answer is forthcoming, Liam breathes deep through his nose before letting the air out almost explosively through his mouth.

“Can’t sleep?”

He gets a nod. Looks back at Scott to find his alpha propped up on one elbow, watching him in the pale light. All he gets is a pair of raised eyebrows. He gently shoves one of Scott’s shoulders, muttering, “Aren’t alphas supposed to be helpful?”

Then, to Brett, “What can we do?”

“Can...can I sleep in here? On the floor or something?” Brett chews his lip, still not looking at them, before, “I, just, in Satomi’s pack we’re usually in the same room or something, and being all alone is...I don’t know, it’s hard I guess, and I just—”

“Brett,” Scott’s voice is impossibly soft, gentle in a way Liam’s only ever heard him use around him, “you don’t have to take the floor.”

“I—oh,” something like hope enters Brett’s voice, and Liam steals a look at Scott to find his alpha smiling softly. “Does that mean I can—”

“Only if Liam’s okay with it.”

He can feel both their eyes on him, then. And there’s a part of him, a very _loud_ part, that wants to say no. That wants to push Brett away. But then he remembers. He remembers the Brett who helped him. He remembers when he’d tried to distance himself from the pack, how he’d _needed_ that close contact to help him stabilize afterward. How lost and alone and afraid he’d felt. The way he’s sure Brett is feeling now, the separation from his former pack still so fresh.

So he nods.

“Sure. It’s fine.”

And maybe the way that Brett practically surges forward, relief flowing through every line of his body, makes something a little giddy in Liam’s chest. Maybe, when he lays back down and curls himself into Scott’s side, the feeling, the heat, of Brett at his back isn’t as alien as he’d expected. Maybe something about it feels _right_.

Maybe feeling Brett’s heartbeat join his as he syncs up with Scott feels just like the realization of his love for Scott.

Like it’d just been a matter of time. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Liam adjusts to living with Brett, he is still seventeen.

He wakes to their usual alarm of Stiles' phone playing "Waking Up In Vegas"— _"It's ironic!" "No, dude, seriously, it's just annoying." "I dunno Liam, I think it's kinda funny." "See? Scott agrees with me."_ —and shifts under the familiar weight of the arms around his waist.

"Brett," he mumbles, sticking his fingers into the ribcage at his back, "you're closest today."

"Shuddup," comes the response, thick and slow. The arms around him squeeze, pulling him closer. "You're warm. Comfy. 'M sleepy."

He pokes again, this time making sure his fingers brush that one ticklish spot he'd found by accident about a week and a half ago. The one Brett has repeatedly denied even exists. The one that totally exists because Brett jerks at his back—and, no, Liam totally doesn't notice the morning wood poking him in the back of his thigh, no sir, not today or ~~every~~ any other day.

"Fuck you, assmunch."

"Alarm," is all Liam says in answer, turning his head into his pillow—which is apparently Scott's arm today—and smiling to himself. Brett grumbles something unintelligible but Liam can feel him stretch, hears him slap at Stiles' phone until it falls silent. At least, silent for the next nine minutes.

When Katy Perry invades his ears again, Liam lets out a sigh and pulls himself up, careful not to jab anyone with his elbows. Leans over Brett to snooze the alarm a second time before detangling himself completely. The hardwood of the hall is cold against his feet, the tile of the bathroom even colder, but he ignores it with a practiced ease. Shucks the boxers and t-shirt he'd been wearing and jumps in the shower before it's really had time to warm up. Scrubs yesterday from his skin with an efficiency born of practiced timing, then allows himself twenty of his slow heartbeats to luxuriate in the now near-scalding water.

He's just finished drying off, is loosely wrapping his towel around his waist, when Scott comes in without knocking. Right on schedule.

"Mornin'," his alpha mumbles, smiling at him. Puts him in a quick headlock, ruffling his hair while Liam does his best not to look like he's enjoying the close contact as much as he is. Or the fact that it means he's going to smell like Scott for the whole day.

"Morning," Liam brushes his teeth as Scott strips and steps into the shower, his alpha's ass on glorious and obvious display in the fogging mirror. Spits into the sink and trudges back to Scott's empty room right as the scent of Scott's shampoo drifts around the curtain. He bypasses the empty bed, the sheets still tucked in around the edges, and rifles through his drawer, finding clothes he deems acceptable for the day. Grabs his backpack and duffel from the corner, carrying them and his clothes across the hall to where Stiles and Brett are probably still sleeping. Lazy assholes.

Sure enough, the two of them have apparently drifted closer together, probably for warmth, their foreheads practically touching. Liam purposefully sets his backpack down right beside Brett's legs, then flops his towel-clad ass on the edge closest to the other werewolf.

Brett, as expected, flails around like he's going to fall—like he isn't practically in the middle of a goddamn king size bed—before righting himself, glaring.

"Dick."

"Baby," Liam fires back over his shoulder, grabbing the boxers he'd picked out and pulling them on as he stands and lets the towel fall.

"Dick baby."

"Baby dick."

"Low blow, dude," Brett sounds like he's putting on a pout, but Liam's not going to even dignify the act with a look. Instead, he pulls on his shirt over his head.

"Would you both shut up?" Stiles cuts in, apparently awake. While Scott is in the shower. So, again, right on schedule. "Did anyone make coffee?"

"Werewolves," Liam says, hiding his surprise when Brett says it at the same time. When he turns around, Stiles is giving them both a flat look with the one eye he isn’t busy rubbing.

"Adorable,” he mumbles around his hand. “Now you can get married and have dozens of baby werewolf mutants with ridiculous shoulders or something. Maybe they'll be equally useless at providing caffeine to poor, sleep-deprived humans. Do you _want_ me to crash and die on the way to class?"

Liam rolls his eyes, sharing a fond look with Brett as Stiles pulls the covers back over his head. Pulls his jeans and socks on just as Scott wanders back in, dressed and combing fingers through his still damp hair.

"Shower's all yours," he tells Brett before frowning at the lump on the bed, "and why aren't you up yet, Stiles? We have to leave in, like, ten minutes. You have that English Comp class today, remember?"

“Your betas hate me.”

The way Stiles whines the words probably shouldn’t be as adorable and endearing as Liam finds it, but, well. It is. Scott, for his part, snorts and shakes his head, leaning over to poke Stiles in the ribs.

“You still have to get up and drive us to class.”

“Why can’t you just take your bike?”

“Because you promised them,” Scott hitches his thumb at Liam and Brett, crouching up on the bed and kneeling over Stiles’ still-covered form, “that you’d start teaching them how to drive next week. And I want to enjoy all the time with you I can.”

“Alright, you two are disgusting,” Brett announces loudly, rolling his eyes and grabbing Liam by the wrist, “we’re leaving. C’mon, Li’.”

And maybe Brett’s fingers slip down to tangle with his right as they get to Scott’s bedroom, Brett giving them a quick squeeze and him a just-as-quick smile before letting go. Maybe everything turns kind of hazy at that point, right up until Brett grabs his clothes and shuts the bathroom door. It’s only then that Liam realizes his heart is pounding in a way that is all too familiar, almost terrifyingly so. And, of course, the moment he thinks he’s got it back under control, Scott sticks his head in, grin wide and red marks already fading from his neck.

“Hey, Li’, Stiles and I are heading out.”

“But what about—” Liam blinks and hikes a thumb over his shoulder at the shut bathroom door. The shoulder that Liam can see shrugs.

“Stiles wasted too much time and now we might be late.”

He doesn’t even bother trying to keep his eyes from zeroing in on the marks on Scott’s neck. His alpha blushes.

“Okay, so maybe we both wasted time.”

“Uh-huh. Right.”

Scott rolls his eyes, still blushing. Something in Liam’s gut flips with his alpha’s eyes.

“Whatever, doof. Have a good day at school. You and Brett both stay safe, okay? And check in with Malia for m—”

“Scott!” Stiles voice comes to them from somewhere downstairs. “Get your perky little werewolf ass down here or I’m leaving without you.”

The huff Scott makes could probably be described as _adorable_ , but Liam’s going to keep that thought to himself, thank you. Instead, he crosses the distance between them and pulls the door open, wrapping his alpha in a hug. Makes sure to let his nose rest, however briefly, in the crook of Scott’s neck, just above his shirt’s collar. Breathes deeply, trying to commit the scent to memory the way he does every morning. He has to, he argues with himself, or he might forget. Totally a thing that could happen. Right. Sure.

“Thanks,” the word swirls warm between their skin, “and we will, I promise.”

He can’t see Scott’s reaction, but he does feel the press of lips to his hair, the way he lingers. Hears and feels the slow intake of breath that is Scott scenting him the way Liam had done only a moment before.

“I’m leaving!”

The moment dissolves like morning dew in sunrise as Stiles’ yells up to them, Scott detangling himself with a low laugh.

“I’m coming!”

“You’d better not be!”

Scott’s laughter continues ringing in Liam’s ears even until he and Brett are both trodding the familiar path to school, shoulders bumping almost like they're old friends.

 

———

 

“I swear to god, if you hurt my baby, Scott’s baby beta or not, I will happily eviscerate you.”

“Stiles,” Liam lets himself sigh loudly, keeping his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the road, and pointedly ignoring the way Stiles calling him that makes something in his chest flutter, “would you just _relax_? I’ve done this before.”

“Liar,” Brett pipes up from the back, smirk widening when Liam glares at him in the rearview.

“Shut up.”

“Make me, baby beta.”

“Brett,” Stiles’ sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, “stop antagonizing Liam. Liam, focus on driving. I’m serious about that evisceration threat. Also, Brett?”

“Mm?”

“Only the girls get to call him that.”

“But, you just did, so does that mean—”

“That evisceration threat can be made to extend to you, too, if you’d like.”

Though he clamps his lips over the sound, Liam’s snort still fills the rumbling confines of the Jeep.

“Less laughter more driving, baby beta,” he resolutely ignores the way Stiles flicks him in the shoulder. “If you two’re late for school, I’ll never hear the end of it from Scott.”

“Wait,” a frown pulls at Liam’s brows, and he risks a glance over at Stiles, “don’t you have class in, like, ten minutes?”

Stiles flicks him again. A low chuckle comes from the back seat.

“As cute as it may be that you’ve memorized my schedule, don’t worry about it. Keep your eyes on the road and don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”

Though the words are barely audible, Liam can clearly hear Brett mumble, “Don’t see you regretting all the extra blowjobs or—”

“ _Brett_ ,” Liam’s not especially proud of the way his voice cracks, “I swear to _god_ , I will drive this car into a freaking pole.”

Stiles’ retaliatory flick for _that_ comment catches him on the nose.

 

———

 

The rest of the team is already filing out, wishing him a good weekend, by the time Liam’s managed to wriggle out of his drenched gear. The scents of soap and sweat and mud cloy the air, and the locker room is sticky and warm from the excessive showers the spring rain had merited from most of the team. Still, goosebumps creep up his arms and down his back as he rummages through his duffel for clean clothes, humming along to the soft music coming from his phone.

It’s only from force of habit that the arms wrapping themselves about his shoulders don’t prompt him to flat-out tear Brett’s idiot throat from his idiot neck. He maybe even makes a low sound that is somehow _not_ displeasure when a cold nose makes contact with the back of his neck.

“Hey,” the word is breathed into his hair, hot against his scalp.

“Hey yourself.”

There’s silence for a few moments, filled only by Liam’s music. He maneuvers as best as he can, finally finding the spare shirt he’d packed that morning folded up in a corner of his bag.

“Is this okay?”

The sigh that works from Liam’s throat when Brett’s arms tense is maybe slightly more weary than he’d meant for it to be.

“You said it helps, right? The contact? With adjusting to the pack?”

A nod against his skin.

“Then why wouldn’t it be okay?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, Liam sighs again and straightens, turning as he does. It’s almost comical, how insecure Brett looks with his gaze averted like it is—considering that he’s fully a head taller than Liam and all.

“Brett,” it feels right to pull those gray eyes to meet his, so Liam does, fingers as gentle as he can make them on Brett’s cheeks, “it’s fine. You’re _pack_ now. We help each other. And, believe me, I get it. Besides” a wry smile tugs at his lips, “if I had a problem with it, I would’ve probably objected to you sleeping in the same bed as me for the past, y’know, two months.”

That at least gets him a chuckle, and the tension finally vanishes from Brett’s body when Liam wraps his arms around him. He breathes deep, relishing in the way Brett smells like him. Not only like him, though, but also Scott and Stiles from their sleeping arrangements, with a hint of Malia thrown in from the three of them piling on top of one another to do homework yesterday afternoon.

“So, uh,” Brett’s voice is so low Liam almost misses it, “you, uh, you,” and, oh, he can practically _smell_ the red flush creeping over Brett’s chest, “you haven’t showered yet, have you.”

It’s not a question. Not really. Liam finds himself shaking his head anyway.

“Nope.” Maybe he’s grinning into Brett’s chest. Maybe his heart is racing just a little bit.

“Would you, uh, would you mind if I...”

Liam shakes his head again.

“Nope.”

“I promise I won’t, like, _do_ anything—”

His fingertips shift to Brett’s lips, silencing him.

“Dude, seriously. It’s fine. You’re _pack_. I trust you.”

And, despite their pasts, despite the relatively short time Brett’s been in the pack compared to the rest of them, Liam finds that he means it. He...trusts Brett. Maybe not the same way he trusts Scott—because, no, that’s just not possible—but he does. And maybe it makes something warm curl in his gut when he glances up to find Brett smiling at him, wide and toothy. Just like the trust, it’s not the same as when Scott’s there, when he’s at his alpha’s side or curled in his arms, but it’s still something.

“Thank you.”

Brett’s shoulder is definitely more solid than he remembers, as he finds out firsthand when he lightly punches it. Still, the quick flash of surprise does nothing to get rid of the warmth, or the way his own smile is mimicking Brett’s as he steps away to grab his towel.

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

 

———

 

Stiles has a notebook propped against the steering wheel when the two of them trundle back to the parking lot, duffles slung over their shoulders and hair still clinging to their foreheads. He glances up, arching an eyebrow between them, before going back to his papers and scratching something among the spidery text already covering the page.

“Took you two long enough. Did you finally discover the joys of mutual masturbation or something?”

The parking lot has got to be uneven right there, Liam tells himself, because he totally would _never_ just trip like that. It’s either that or how uncharacteristically light and loose his limbs feel.

“Or something,” Brett fires back, and Liam can’t see his face, but he can almost hear the asshole’s signature smirk. “You want one of us to drive so you can study?”

“Nah, too much work to keep one of you and myself on track at the same time,” Stiles’ notebook disappears beneath the window before he hooks a thumb towards the back seat. “Both of you, in. Cuddle in your post-coital bliss or something.”

Liam tries to speak normally but ends up sputtering.

“Stiles, oh my _god_ , I _swear_ —”

“Oh, c’mon baby,” Brett turns with that same shit-eating smirk and wraps an arm around Liam’s waist, the action carrying so much more weight and meaning than it had back in the locker room, “it’s alright, you don’t have to be ashamed of what we have.”

The moment freezes for all of two of Liam’s suddenly-thudding heartbeats, unable to look away from where Brett is practically towering over him, before Stiles shatters it with a loud, barking laugh.

“Good one. Now, get in kids, Melissa’s orders. She said to bring you two home by six for dinner or, what did she say again?” His momentary silence is punctuated by the engine turning over. “Oh yeah, ‘they can just get used to doing their own damn laundry for the rest of the year.’”

Brett may beat him to the back seat, but Liam tells himself it’s only because the bastard had cheated. Clearly. Still, he can’t deny that he doesn’t resist Brett pulling him into his arms, or that it feels good to be held for, well, for no reason at all really.

He also pretends not to notice the pointed looks Stiles sends the two of them in the rearview.

 

———

 

He can hear Stiles’ heartbeat ratchet up a notch when they round the bend and Scott’s house comes into view. More than that, though, it’s the way Stiles’ breathing stutters and holds in that has his body sitting ramrod straight, senses on high alert, before he can even so much as think about it. Brett makes a distressed noise for all of a half second before he seems to pick up on the fact that the air has become as thick as syrup.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Stiles mutters, his eyes wide when Liam sneaks a look at them in the mirror. He follows the gaze out the windshield, ending on a silver car in Scott’s driveway that looks like it’s worth more than Liam’s parents make in five years combined.

“Stiles? What is it?”

Instead of answering, Stiles slows them to a halt at the edge of the McCall property and kills the engine, pulling his phone from his jeans.The soft beeps of the device speed-dialing are like gunshots in the now-near-silent interior of the Jeep. It only rings twice before Liam hears Scott’s voice answering.

“ _Stiles? This better be good, dude, I have class in, like, thirty seconds—_ ”

“Skip it.”

Liam feels his own heart skip a beat at the vehemence in Stiles’ tone. He catches Brett out of the corner of his eye, looking between the two of them and the mystery car, brows scrunched together.

“ _Dude, no, I can’t. We’re reviewing for the exam we have next Monday and I really don’t—_ ”

“Scott,” Stiles’ voice is _shaking_ now, and that more than the waves of unidentifiable emotions rolling off of him sends a sliver of ice down Liam’s spine, “he’s back. He’s back from London. I don’t know why, but Jackson is back.”

There’s silence from the other end for three of Liam’s heartbeats before a series of scraping and shuffling sounds come through the connection.

“ _I’ll be there in twenty minutes._ ”

“I thought it took thirty—” Liam starts before Stiles cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Drive safe. And, y’know, don’t give any little old ladies heart attacks. Or get caught by the cops.”

Scott’s snort is audible even without his enhanced hearing. Liam’s pretty sure he hears the sound of his alpha’s bike revving in the background.

“ _No promises_.”

The connection closes with a soft beep, and, right on cue, Brett’s voice fills the quiet, drowning out the sudden thudding of Liam’s heart against his ribcage.

“So, anyone wanna tell me what the hell’s happening?”

Stiles sighs from the front and rubs at his eyes, his hands visibly shaking.

“Not exactly. Let’s just say an old _friend_ has come home to visit.”

And, no matter how much Brett prys—in spite of Liam smacking him in the leg—Stiles won’t elaborate. By the time Scott gets there, Liam’s hauled Stiles into the backseat, putting him between himself and Brett. It’s cramped, but Stiles hasn’t complained so far except for a squawking sound when said hauling had actually happened. He probably appreciates the fact that Liam has positioned him ever-so-carefully where he can elbow Brett in the ribs any time the asshole not so subtly brings it up. Whatever _it_ may be, and whoever the hell ‘Jackson’ is.

The door to the Jeep is pulled open, and Liam’s head swivels—he had _not_ been listening to Stiles’ heartbeat, nor had he been so distracted by it that he’d lost track of his surroundings, no sir—to take in his alpha, hair tousled, helmet under his arm. He doesn’t miss the way Scott swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, as he takes them in, his eyes traveling behind Liam to land, presumably, on Stiles. No words pass between them, but Liam feels Stiles nod behind him, and the next thing he knows Stiles has wormed his way out of his werewolf sandwich and is striding across the lawn towards Scott’s house, Scott at his side. The Jeep’s door hangs open, which Liam takes as a sign that they’re supposed to follow, though he obligingly elbows Brett in the ribs again when he grumbles about secrets.

“I’ve never seen Scott or Stiles this rattled before,” Liam mutters as Brett unfolds himself from the backseat, voice pitched low so only they can hear. “Whatever’s going on, they probably have a good reason for not bringing it up before.”

“Stop making sense.” Liam would be tempted to describe Brett’s huff as _cute_ under different circumstances. And if it weren’t, well, Brett.

“And stop thinking so loudly,” a palm thwacks him on the back of the head, “it’s annoying.”

Liam would retaliate, would show Brett the definition of annoying, but a wave of...something sour and sweet, almost like anxiety but not, washes over his skin. He has to turn, has to look and make sure that, yes, that’s Scott who’s practically vibrating with whatever this is, hand poised on the doorknob. Stiles has a hand on Scott’s elbow, leaning in until his forehead is less than an inch from Scott’s head.

“Hey,” he’s saying, “I’m here, dude. It’s alright.”

“It’s been over two years, Stiles. What if—” a spike of fear pierces the air, there and gone so quickly Liam could almost pretend he’d imagined it. He feels Brett stiffen beside him.

“Scott,” Stiles cuts him off, “I’m sure not even two years has made him less of a dickbag—”

There’s a scraping sound from the door before it opens, knob pulled out of Scott’s grip. Stiles flails almost comically, but the person behind the door draws Liam’s attention completely.

The first thought Liam has is ‘ _holy crap he’s_ tall.’ Then the scent hits him, and two things click into place at once. First, whoever this is, his scent is part of the McCall house, practically worked into the woodwork, especially in the room that’s become Brett’s—but that, really, they all share at this point.

Second, he’s a werewolf. Liam can feel his claws unsheathing as his feet move him forward two steps, as if to get between this stranger and his alpha. But then Scott speaks, voice hoarse, almost choked, and the emotions oozing off of him become so frenzied that Liam can’t even tell what’s what anymore.

“I-Isaac?”

The wolf—Isaac, apparently—grins wide, teeth showing, and sticks his hands in his pockets. Bows his head slightly and maybe curls in on himself a bit, looking at them through his eyelashes as if he can somehow hide behind them.

“Heya, Scott.”

Liam can’t see the smile on his alpha’s face, but he can hear it just fine.

“Isaac!”

Scott flings himself forward, arms looping about Isaac’s neck and tugging him into a hug. Isaac seems to go willingly enough, his arms almost haltingly winding themselves about Scott’s middle. It should look cramped and awkward and maybe even comical, given that Isaac seems to have a good almost half-foot on Scott, but Liam can only think that they look...right together. Like they fit, hand into glove. Isaac’s eyes eventually flutter shut, his grip becoming more sure as his fingers fist Scott’s jacket, tilting his head to nuzzle into the side of Scott’s neck as Scott does the same.

“I missed you,” the words are breathed into Scott’s neck, catching in the middle, “god, I missed you so much.”

“Missed you, too, Isaac,” Scott’s voice is so low Liam almost misses it.

They stay like that, all of them rooted into place, none of them saying anything, until the two of them move apart. Scott moves his arms from Isaac’s neck and slides them down, which gets him a huff from Isaac when he has to pulls his arms away from Scott and reposition them.

“Isaac,” Scott glances back, his eyes landing on Liam, an almost goofy look curling his lips up at the corners, “meet Liam Dunbar and Brett Talbot, my betas. Brett, Liam,” his arms squeeze a bit about Isaac’s middle, drawing a quick grunt out of the other werewolf before he thwacks Scott lightly on the arm, “this is...Isaac. Isaac Lahey. He’s my...” Scott looks down, eyes focusing somewhere a hundred miles behind Liam’s knees, “he’s pack.”

Isaac looks between Liam and Brett, gaze assessing, before he takes a half step back—Scott makes a high whining noise that sounds _way_ too much like a dog for it to be anything but adorable in Liam’s mind—and raises an eyebrow.

“Scott, did you…?”

“Only Liam. Brett’s originally from another pack.”

“So you—”

“Saved me from falling off a hospital with his teeth,” Liam interjects, drawing the gazes of everyone present towards him. Feels his face pink, but smirks as he continues his story. “That was before he tied me up in a bathtub and Stiles said they were going to, what was it you said, exactly?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans, palms pushing at his eyes, “you’re never going to let that go, are you?”

Liam watches Isaac frown, then glance down at Scott.

“What _did_ he say?”

Scott ducks his head, hiding it in Isaac’s chest, and mumbles something unintelligible. Isaac glances up at Liam and rolls his eyes, grin wide.

“What?”

“Something about pieces of him in the desert.”

“Burying,” Liam adds, feeling something constrict in his chest when Isaac throws his head back and outright laughs, the sound almost musical, “ _burying_ piece of me in the desert.”

When Isaac finishes, he looks back down at Scott and shakes the alpha in his arms lightly.

“Panic much?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” comes the mumbled reply, which just makes Isaac laugh again before his gaze settles on Brett.

“And how about you? Did Scott save you from falling off a building, too?”

“No, but he did save my pack. And form an alliance with my alpha.”

Isaac cocks his head a bit, brows crinkling.

“Your alpha? So you’re not—”

“I volunteered to join this pack as a way to cement the alliance.”

All it takes is a raised eyebrow from Isaac, the meaning clear, before Brett is fidgeting. Liam reaches out to rest a steadying hand in the small of his back.

“And I wanted to.”

Isaac nods.

“Thought so.”

In the intervening silence, Liam moves the hand he has on Brett’s back, his thumb moving up and down in small, soothing motions, tracing the lumps of vertebrae through clothing. Brett, for his part, steps into the comfort, his arm brushing Liam’s shoulder. Liam doesn’t say anything, instead watches as Isaac refocuses on Scott, their gazes locking, years of memories and thoughts seemingly exchanged between them with simple glances.

“So,” Stiles speaks up, drawing their eyes to him, “not that it’s not great to see you, but is there a reason you’re using Jackson’s car?”

“Because,” a voice comes from behind Isaac, heavy with condescension, “it’s my fucking car. Obviously.”

Isaac rotates until he’s no longer blocking the doorway, Scott moving with him, revealing another werewolf—Jackson, apparently—standing just inside the door, arms crossed. He looks like something straight out of a goddamn Abercromie ad, Liam finds himself thinking, all haughty attitude and designer clothes. Something simmers low in his gut, and he’s honestly not sure whether it’s dislike or arousal.

“Good to see I wasn’t wrong about you,” Stiles mutters, glancing back at Liam and Brett and rolling his eyes.

“Oh c’mon Stiles,” Isaac is grinning wide, “do you really think you’d still love Jackson if he suddenly weren’t a royal pain?”

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbles at the same time Jackson lets out a breath and a pitched, “Fuck you too, Lahey.”

“Boys!” Melissa’s voice pierces the ensuing laughter that breaks the tension hanging heavy on Liam’s shoulders, “Inside! We’re not paying to air condition all of California.”

 

———

 

Dinner sees the return of that tension, and then some, until Liam feels like his skin is literally crawling over itself.

Scott, Stiles, and Melissa sit with Isaac and Jackson at the table, while Brett and Liam eat their spaghetti at the kitchen island. It gives Liam a chance to watch, to observe Scott with other members of his pack. To watch as they chuckle at Scott’s lame jokes and Stiles’ even lamer ones. To see their feet tangle together almost nonchalantly, their shoulders and arms and hands and fingertips brushing constantly over the table.

He steadily ignores the rising, twisting feeling in his gut. The one that whispers doubt and insecurity into his mind, that forces him to look at Scott’s radiant smile and think, ‘ _I didn’t do that to him_.’ The same feeling that makes the food in his mouth turn sour and his hands shake if he holds them still for too long, that awakens a dull pain just behind his sternum.

Brett at least sticks by his side, his arm bumping Liam’s shoulder every time the twisting feeling threatens to overwhelm him. Isaac, at some point, asks him if he’s still in high school, and Liam nearly chokes on his spaghetti—hell, nearly inhales his damn fork—before managing to stutter out that, yes, he’s a junior, and that both he and Brett are in the lacrosse team. Brett gets asked a few questions as well, but Liam tunes them out, staring unfocused at his plate, moving the food more than actually eating it at that point.

By the time it’s over and Melissa is kissing each of them—Isaac and Jackson included—on the head before heading off to a night shift, Liam feels like his insides are going to snap apart. Which is why, once Melissa leaves, Liam hurriedly cleans his plate off and escapes upstairs. Scott may or may not call after him as he scales the steps, but if he does it’s lost amidst the pounding in Liam’s ears. He curls up in the sheets that smell like them—like him and Scott and Stiles and Brett—and press them under his nose, breathing deeply and fighting to not keen like some kind of wounded animal. It’s barely dark outside, but he pulls the blankets over his head anyway and lets the scents of what Liam’s mind has come to identify as _home_ surround him, shield him from this harsh new reality. From the way Scott looks at Isaac and Jackson both as if they’re something precious, as if his world spins more smoothly with them at his side.

It's the same way Scott _doesn’t_ look at him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, but even in the dark he can feel the lines of fire as they roll down his cheeks.

 

———

 

He must fall asleep, because Liam finds himself standing on the lacrosse field, Scott at his side. The lights are all lit to cut through the pitch black of the night, and the moon is notably absent from the sky—a new moon, his mind helpfully supplies.

“Because otherwise the spell wouldn’t work, right?” Scott asks him, and Liam looks up, confused.

“What?”

“The witch who’s come into town to tap the Nemeton. Her sacrifice spells need a new moon to work, remember? The darkest night for the blackest magic, Deaton said.”

“I guess—” Liam starts, but stops when Scott’s body pitches forward, a wet gurgle working out of his mouth. “Scott?”

He doesn’t remember moving, but he’s suddenly kneeling at Scott’s side, his alpha writhing on the ground. Gets to see up close and personal how Scott’s skin begins to shred itself as if being cut with a dull blade, blood gushing from the wounds as Scott screams, just like Liam had that night he’d been taken, that night he’s almost _died_ , except Scott...Scott keeps going, keeps screaming and screaming and _screaming_ and—

A destroyed hand clamps down on Liam’s arm, his alpha’s rent face struggling to meet his gaze, glowing eyes accusing, the whites filled in with red.

“ _Why won’t you save me_? _Why—_ ”

Liam claws back to consciousness, swallowing his screams and clutching the sheets about him as he fights to draw in a breath. His pulse pounds in his ears, blotting out everything but the sound of his alpha’s death throes that ring endlessly through his mind. Every muscle in his body feels like its stretched taut, his arms wrapping themselves about his middle and _squeezing_ just to relieve some of the pressure building in his chest.

Brett, of course, wakes up, eyes glowing yellow in the dark and breathing hard, but shakes his head once he gets his bearings and crawls to where Liam’s managed to pushed himself against the headboard.

“Hey, Li’, it’s okay. you’re safe,” his friend tells him, voice sounding like it’s miles away as he pulls Liam into his embrace. “It was just a dream. Whatever it was, it can’t get you. Not anymore. You’re _safe_. I gotcha.”

It isn’t the words themselves that bring Liam back so much as their tone, the slow steady rhythm of them against his skin. The way he can feel Brett’s chest rising and falling in sequence, one breath in, the next out, then in, then out. The pounding he can feel through his packmate’s skin, the heartbeat that is steady and solid compared to his own erratic pace. It’s only when he can finally control his breathing again, when the feel of Scott’s mangled hand around his wrist and his alpha’s blood sliding between his fingers is little more than a phantom, that he finally breaks.

The sounds he makes would probably be embarrassing if it were anyone who wasn’t in the pack. But this is Brett, Brett who is—or, if nothing else, is _trying_ to be—pack. Brett who used to be his best friend once upon a time, before all this insanity. Brett who trusts him. And Brett whom he trusts in return. He manages to keep the worst of it muffled against Brett’s chest, his entire body heaving, his limbs shaking even as his fingers try to find purchase on Brett’s bare chest.

When he finally gets himself under control again, Liam sniffles loudly, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and using the front to rub the salt from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, keeping his voice low so as the not wake anyone else. Makes a soft sound of annoyance at himself before leaning his head against the solid warmth that is Brett. “I got you all gross.”

“Dude, it’s fine.”

There are fingers carding through his hair, chasing away the last few jitters, and Liam leans into the touch almost reflexively. Lets himself relax and be comforted, sniffling again as he tries to scent Brett. something feels off, and it takes him a few moments before he realizes it’s...quiet. There aren’t enough heartbeats in the room.

“Did Scott come to bed?” he asks muzzily. Feels Brett shake his head above him.

“Stayed with Isaac and Jackson in his old room. Apparently this used to be Isaac’s room back when he lived here.”

Liam makes a noise to indicate he’s listening, though he’s definitely _not_ when Brett starts softly telling him a story that Isaac or Scott must’ve told at dinner. There’s something twisting in his guts, the same feeling from before, and the remnants of the nightmare fading through his mind do nothing to abate it— if anything, they wind it tighter. When he finally can’t take it anymore, he rolls out of bed, unable to take it anymore. Brett stops mid-sentence, and Liam doesn’t need to be able to see him in the werelight coming through the window to know that his forehead is crinkled in confusion.

“Li’? You okay?”

“I—” Liam gasps when his chest suddenly _constricts_ , his throat feeling like it’s collapsing for a moment before he manages to suck in a breath, “I need to get to Scott, I need—”

He stumbles, crashing into a wall— _fuck_ , he hopes that didn’t wake Stiles—before righting himself, crawling along the wall to the door and pulling it open. Spills out in the hallways, falling to his knees with a thud. Manages to get his feet under him again, Brett hissing his name after him even as he grabs the wall for support and throws himself towards Scott’s door.

It’s, thankfully, unlocked. As soon as Liam’s through, the familiar scent of _alpha_ washes over him, and he can breathe again. He takes a single, steadying breath, head bowed, hands on his knees, before—

Before the other scents in the room slam into him like he’s a skydiver who forgot his parachute. Chief among them is arousal, so strong it nearly makes his head spin and his sweats too tight. Arousal and need and longing and—

His feet refuse to move once he actually looks, once he follows the halo of clothes scattered about the bed towards their center and actually _sees_. It feels like every muscle in his body seizes all at once, like his limbs are made of iron.

Scott is laid out on his bed, Jackson and Isaac on either side of him. None of them seem to be wearing shirts, his alpha’s dark skin a stark contrast to the other two where their limbs wind about one another. And, if the glimpse Liam gets of Jackson is anything to go by, none of them are wearing, well...anything at all. That, though, isn’t what draws his attention. Not really. He’s seen Scott naked before—a consequence of being on the same lacrosse team—but never...never like this.

Never with hands grabbing at his sides, his neck, his hair as mouths collide in a frenzied, desperate dance. Never with two people who are, as far as Liam’s concerned, almost complete _strangers_ drawing those noises from between his alpha’s lips, possessive and needy all at once. Never with the slits of his eyes glowing so brightly, not seeing anything, so utterly _lost_ , that Liam’s surprised his damn eyelids aren’t glowing too. Never seething in a cloud of arousal and lust and _want_ so thick that none of them even seem to notice him hunched in the doorway.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, transfixed, unable to move let alone _think_. How long he lets shock keep him rooted in place, his mind torturing him with every last inch of detail. Just that the spell is broken when Brett bumps into him, making a soft noise of surprise. That the same sound is echoed from the bed, though whether from Jackson or Isaac Liam’s not sure.

After that, things are a bit of a blur. It almost feels as if something snaps in his mind, and everything is suddenly rushing past him: fragments of images and muffled sounds and hints of scents. He might hear his name, might hear it several times, might feel hands scrabbling at his skin, but everything vanishes in the wake of the rushing, the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears and the fire that’s roaring to life in his chest. The night becomes a monochromatic blur, vague notions of motion swirling past his eyes as the world moves around him, as distant lines of fire move over his body in thin stripes.

 _I’m running through the woods_ , some small, still-coherent part of his mind manages to piece together before dissolving, before pressure builds at the base of his spine and travels up into his chest and beyond. Before he feels the beast inside of him tear its way out, his lungs screaming in time with his voice.

“ _Liam_!”

His alpha’s voice pierces through the haze, the singly syllable carrying a weight Liam’s never heard it take on before. Everything crystallizes in one harsh, jerking movement, the wolf retreating back inside so quickly Liam ends up tripping over his own feet and landing face-first in the dirt and rotting leaves. His chest heaves, and another scream rips its way from his now-human lungs before he can even think about it, his hands clutching at his chest because _fuck_ it _hurts_. Hurts more than a thousand berserker talons being shoved into his chest at once. Hurts like having his flesh literally torn from his body by an insane witch hadn’t.

He has a single, shining moment of clarity to recognize it as the same twisting feeling from dinner earlier. The same feeling, but amplified so many times over that Liam has no idea how he hasn’t shattered into a thousand pieces, how he isn’t burning up and breaking and—

“Liam, I’m so sorry, you know I would never—I didn’t know what else to do, you were running and I—”

Those eyes. Red. Glowing. He knows them. Blinks even as they stay wide, laser-focused, on him. Scott. His alpha. His alpha is here. His alpha will make everything better. His alpha—

Memory crashes into him, over him, within him, and Liam jerks away from the hands that are holding his shoulders, Scott falling silent. Falls on his ass and over onto his shoulder, the dirt meeting his cheek again. Tries to get an arm propped to lift himself up, but only manages to roll onto his back, the stars mocking him overhead. Has to suck in a wheezing breath to speak, and even then his throat still feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder.

“You,” he pants, eyes tracking down to where Scott’s kneeling beside him, hands raised as if afraid he might spook, “what, I—”

Thoughts a jumbled mess, Liam flings an arm in Scott’s direction, then sweeps it back towards...somewhere. Wherever he’s guessing the house might be. The stars and his alpha’s face blur. Hot, wet lines trace down his cheeks when he blinks.

“You were with them,” he finally manages, the words tasting like bile as he chokes them out. Scott’s hands fall back to his sides, and he looks away. “You were _with_ them.”

Liam doesn’t mean for it to come out like such an accusation. He also doesn’t mean for his voice to crack on the last word. But the world isn’t perfect. And the world isn’t fair.

Scott nods, not saying anything. Still not looking at anything.

“Why? Why them?”

That gets Scott to look at him at least, brows scrunched and head tilting to the side.

“Wha—they’re pack, Liam.”

“No,” Liam’s shaking his head, and suddenly his arms are moving, propping him up so he can stare his alpha right in the eye, “no, you don’t get it, Scott, why—” he gags on his words, something cold stabbing through his chest as the thought, the terror and insecurity and loneliness all freezing his blood in his veins, “why _them_?”

He takes a breath, shuts his eyes for less than one of his suddenly-thudding heartbeats, then forces himself to say the rest of it.

“Why them and not _me_?”

And Scott. Scott his alpha, his friend, the most perfect human being—or close enough—that Liam’s ever met, stares at him with a different kind of light burning behind his eyes. Not one visible as a literal glow behind his irises, but one that shines forth from his entire body in the form of posture and a wave of sudden, cloying confusion.

“But,” brows scrunched together, “I thought you didn’t want to—”

A blistering heat blossoms in Liam’s chest, and he pushes himself up, feels his eyes heat with something other than tears.

“I _told_ you over a year ago that I was in love with you. You _know_ how I feel about you. You _know_ —”

But Scott’s shaking his head.

“No, Liam, you told me you _thought_ you were in love with me.”

“I—” Liam’s teeth clack where his jaw snaps itself shut. His head practically spins with the feeling that the entire world just tilted underneath him. “Wait, what?”

“You told me, over a year ago,” his alpha continues, calm and steady, never once raising his voice, “that you _thought_ you were in love with me. And then haven’t said anything at all about it since.”

“But I,” Liam’s eyes try to hide on the ground before he forces them back up, “I spend, like, _every night_ with you and Stiles.”

“And Brett.” A small smile lifts the corners of Scott’s lips. Liam finds his own mouth mirroring the expression against his will as he sniffles and wipes away the tear tracks that are littering his cheeks, probably smearing them with more mud anyway.

“Shut up, that’s not the point and you know it.”

Scott just continues looks at him, expectant, and the lightness that’d been spreading in Liam’s chest evaporates.

“Scott, I—” he sucks in a harsh breath, swallows the lump building in his chest, “I’m pretty sure I’ve been completely in love with you since even before I told you that.” He looks away, then. Has to. Can’t stand to see the pity he knows is in those eyes that’ve been the subject of more than one dream—hell, more than a hundred. “I’ve wanted to be the one who makes you smile and laugh about stupid stuff. The one you wake up to every day and-and _stay_ beside, because you _want_ to and getting up seems so much worse than just a few more seconds beside me. The one you—”

“Liam,” his alpha interrupts him, then, shuffling forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, the other cupping his cheek, forcing their eyes together. Liam doesn’t fight it, just lets out a low sob when his eyes meet Scott’s glowing reds. The thumb on his cheek swipes up, wiping away the tears threatening to fall. “I—you already are all those things to me. You’re my _pack_. Liam, you’re my _beta_.”

As if those words say everything. As if they mean everything. Liam shakes his head in Scott’s grip.

“But what does that even _mean_?”

The way Scott smiles then should be illegal, Liam finds himself thinking.

“It means I love you too.”

“Then why—why haven’t you ever kissed—”

Forget the smile, that laughter should be illegal, too.

“I never thought you wanted—”

Liam doesn’t let him finish that thought. Surges forward and connects their lips in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. Their noses are bumping, and Liam can taste dirt and sweat, but _fuck_ if it still isn’t the best damn kiss he’s ever had. He groans when he feels the rumble of his alpha growling lowly against his lips.

Kissing Scott is transcendent, he finds. It blots out all time and space and thought and leaves him a quivering mass of limbs and desire. Focuses his world down to the single sensation of their chapped lips moving together, of their breaths mingling, of—

The hand on his jaw grips harder as Scott angles their mouths, their tongues meeting in a cascade of fireworks and heat. Pleasure courses through Liam so hard and fast he’s amazed he doesn’t come in his goddamn sweats right then and there like the overeager teenager he is. Scott must sense something, because he pulls their lips apart with a soft smacking sound, biting his lower lip, eyes shining as he holds back laughter.

“Shut _up_ ,” Liam grouses even as his tongue darts out to gather up whatever tastes of his alpha were left behind, shuddering as he does.

Scott cocks his head, eyes glowing ruddy in the moonlight, grin full of teeth.

“Make me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

And so, the first time Liam kisses Scott McCall, he is seventeen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (HOLY CRAP THAT WAS WAY MORE BRIAM THAN I ORIGINALLY PLANNED WHOOPS)
> 
> I know no one wants to hear reasons or excuses for why this took me literally MONTHS to write, but the answer is basically: real life. As in, my Master's work is taking over my life and I've been working 12-15 hour days on a regular basis, not to mention working at least 4 hours almost every weekend day. And on top of that, most of what I've been trying to accomplish so far hasn't been working. (Cells have this annoying habit of dying when they feel like it) And on top of that I've been writing my thesis--or, at least, the first two chapters. Soooooo, yeah. Busy time in life. I was literally only really able to write this because I said "fuck this noise" and drove the boyfriend and myself to DC for a three day weekend vacation. 
> 
> Anyway, yeah. Hopefully you all enjoy! Also, I'm going to confess that I'm not keeping up with season 5 on purpose. Therefore, this story will continue blithely on as if season 5 isn't a thing. (even though the theo spoilers on my tumblr dash REALLY make me want to include him. alas)
> 
> One last note: I can't guarantee when the next chapter will be up. Looking at my outline, there's a LOT that needs to happen. So it'll probably end up being longer than this chapter. And then there's an epilogue and then we're done! (and then holy crap I'll have actually FINISHED another story...)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize so much for this taking SO LONG. I've been in a bit of a slump and this single chapter has actually morphed into THREE chapters. (I'm bad at oulining and actually put waaaaay too much content into my plan for this single chapter) 
> 
> But just so it's clear: I still have every intention of finishing this story. It might take me a while (my new job takes up A LOT of time) but I'm going to do it. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Any and all mistakes are my own.

It only takes three days of the six of them—and one of Malia making them seven—spending the night at the McCall household before Scott sends out a mass text message calling a pack meeting.

Three nights of Liam and Brett sharing what had formerly been Brett's room—and, apparently, Isaac's room long before that—with Stiles joining them for two of those nights.

Three days of Mason shooting Brett and Liam raised eyebrows across the lunch table and asking if they're sleeping alright. Each time, Malia rolls her eyes and assures him it's (still) just pack drama, and each time Liam not-so-gently kicks her under the table. Of course, she kicks him back hard enough to make him wince, but that’s not the point. Obviously.

Three days of not being able to bring himself to shower in the morning at Scott's because the bathroom smells like the new wolves and what Liam is almost 95% sure are the remnants of sex. He practically sprints to school every morning, taking shortcuts through the woods to give himself a little speed boost, sneaking into the locker rooms before classes start to scrub at his skin until it’s bright red. Brett hasn’t said anything, at least not in words, but every day he’s been waiting outside the locker room, arms crossed, a shoulder against the doorway and a frown tilting the corner of his mouth down. 

Three days of avoiding the hell out of Isaac and Jackson whenever and wherever he can.

Three nights of fantasizing over Scott's lips, of getting half-hard every time he imagines as little as the dry slide of chapped skin over chapped skin.

Needless to say, feels like a lot more than three days.

The day of the meeting, Liam invites Mason along. Amazingly, for the first time, Mason says yes. It’s not that Mason isn’t a member of the pack—he’s been one, as far as Liam’s concerned, since the beginning—but he’d kept himself distant from the drama and death that followed them everywhere for the first year and a half or so. Liam’s got a sneaking suspicion that Scott might’ve had something to do with that, overly-protective alpha that he is. But, of course, he has everything but proof. And Mason’s never smelled like Scott more than someone who goes to the same school as his alpha. 

Still, it’s telling when Mason arrives at Scott’s house not two minutes after Liam makes his way downstairs—okay, so maybe he goes down fifteen minutes early because his stomach keeps tying itself in knots,  _ whatever _ —without having asked for the address. And that he lets himself in and gets a smile and a nod from Scott when he strides into the living room and plops himself down on one of the armchairs with entirely too familiar an air. Still, the place doesn't  _ smell _ like Mason's been here before. A mystery for another time. Probably something true-alpha-y again.

Brett’s next, shoving himself into a corner of the couch as if trying to make himself take up less room. Liam pulls on him until he’s got Brett positioned how he wants him and pushes himself into the other beta’s chest. Malia arrives while he’s still getting situated, and she considers the room—half the couch still empty and an entire chair off to the side—before crowding herself into the space between Liam’s legs where they drape off the couch. Nudges her shoulder against the side of his knee in greeting once she’s situated, casting a meaningful glance between him and Brett.

“What?” Liam’s voice is way more defensive than it has any right being.

Malia blinks at him. Gives him a flat look before turning her attention to her fingernails. Starts gnawing at what Liam can only assume is a hangnail. Mutters something under her breath.

“Oh for fuck’s—” Liam huffs and shifts, his calf knocking against her shoulder, “what did you say?”

“Nothing,” she answers far too quickly. “Not my business if you’re an idiot.”

Coming from anyone else, those words probably would’ve stung more.

“Yeah, well... you’re an idiot, too!”

Nice.  _ Great  _ comeback. Absolutely stellar. It gets him a punch to the inside of his knee. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough.

“Watch it, shorty. If you’d like, I can still rearrange the bones in your body if you’re not happy with where they’re at.”

Though he scoffs and mutters, “I’d like to see you try,” under his breath, Liam can feel the corners of his mouth pulling into a smile. He ruffles Malia’s hair, smile pulling higher when she squawks and squirms. The smile vanishes, though, when her claws rake down his exposed forearm in retaliation. Not anything that won’t heal in five seconds flat, but  _ still _ .

“Guys,” Brett’s hand is firm on his shoulder, silencing the growl that’d been burbling up in Liam’s throat, “enough. Scott would kill you two if you got blood everywhere. You can flirt later.”

It’s Malia’s turn to scoff, glancing back at the two of them before resituating herself against the couch and shaking her head.

“Goddamn idiots, both of you.”

~~

Isaac, Jackson, and Stiles are the last to arrive. Jackson takes the last chair, tucking his back into a corner and draping his legs across one of the arms. Isaac and Stiles both consider the room before looking at one another.

“Would it be okay if...” Isaac trails off, looking back at Scott then back to Stiles, making a vague motion at the couch. They seem to understand him well enough, though, because Scott huffs a small laugh, smiling, while Stiles snorts.

“Please, Lahey, be my guest.”

Isaac looks back at Scott again, and Liam can’t see exactly what Isaac’s expression looks like, but it must be a question of some kind because Scott nods, still smiling.

“I think it’d be good for you both.”

Liam has exactly two seconds to ponder this before Isaac’s moved over to the couch and is adjusting him like Liam had Brett minutes ago. He makes a low sound, not sure himself if it’s a protest or approval. Brett, though, lets out a breath in his hair.

“Careful, dude. Once he gets comfy, he’s like a cat.”

Liam cranes his neck up at Brett, his face morphing into a frown without the heat.

“Fuck you. I am  _ not _ —”

He’s cut off by the way the couch shifts as Isaac climbs on, apparently satisfied with the way Liam’s situated. That and the feeling of Isaac’s back resting against his leg, the beta’s head falling against his stomach. He wants to object—Isaac’s head is  _ heavy _ —but finds that he...doesn’t mind. At all. The weight pressing him into the couch and into Brett feels  _ nice _ . Comfortable. Familiar in a way that Isaac himself doesn’t.

_ At least, not yet _ , a part of his mind whispers.

Isaac moving draws his eyes down to the other other beta. He’s looking up at him through his eyelashes, brows raised.

“This alright?”

Faintly, Liam is aware of Stiles saying something to Jackson, of Jackson huffing and shuffling in the chair until Stiles has just enough room to sit before he drapes himself over the human’s lap anyway.

Liam nods.

“Yeah.”

Isaac nods back, and Liam’s arms suddenly don’t feel quite right, tucked into his sides. Without thinking about it, one of his hands snakes down between Isaac’s neck and shoulder, palm splaying over the other man’s heart. The other moves until it rests in Isaac’s hair, gently fiddling with the curling strands, fingernails running over his scalp. Isaac hums, the sound low and contented.

Liam’s not sure why he does it, but he twists his head against Brett’s chest, looking over at his alpha. Scott’s smile is wide, toothy, eyes on him and Isaac and Brett. When Liam looks at him, his smile gets that much wider, looking like a pleased parent, before he nods. Understanding dawns then, a warm light in Liam’s chest.

_ “I think it’d be good for you both.” _

Oh.

He rearranges himself slightly, getting his shoulders at a more comfortable angle. Tries to do it without disturbing the position Isaac had arranged him into. Doesn’t seem to quite manage, since Isaac makes a low huffing and twists a bit, ending up a few inches higher with his head just below Liam’s sternum. His hands also move, with one landing over the back of Liam’s where it’s against Isaac’s chest, the other coming to rest palm-down where Liam’s thigh meets his knee. Taps in a slow rhythm oh-so gently. It takes Liam a few seconds to identify it as the same rhythm beating under the hand he has over Isaac’s heart. Blinks, though, when he feels the hand Brett has over him start tapping out the same beat.

This time, understanding is a much slower thing. It doesn’t appear all at once, but crawls into being, slow and ponderous but inevitable.

It’s his heartbeat. The heartbeat that Isaac is hearing from him. The same heartbeat that’s under his ear where he’s leaning against Brett. The same heartbeat he can feel in Isaac’s chest.

He must make some kind of noise, because he feels a pinch on the inside of his leg from Malia. She laughs when he whacks her shoulder again with his leg.

“Told you so. Idiots.”

Not that Liam’s going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d been more right than she’d meant.

~~

“This isn’t working,” Scott finally says once he calls the meeting to order. Liam doesn’t miss the bitter note in their alpha’s voice, or the way he’s shifting from foot to foot at the center of the room. Feels something in his chest resonate like the low sound of a gong as a similar tone bubbles against his back from Brett.

“It’s  _ amazing _ having you all here all the time," Scott adds, almost too quickly, and a knot Liam hadn't even realized had been forming in his gut relaxes, "really, it is, but it’s not fair to my mom and I just...”

Scott trails off. Drops their collective gaze and seems to become fascinated by the texture of his first knuckle, “I don’t know what to do. Honestly, at this point I’m open to suggestions.”

There’s silence for a few moments before Liam feels Isaac tense in his arms, head twisting towards Stiles and Jackson.

“ _ Jackson _ .”

Even Liam winces at the way Isaac says the other beta’s name, though Jackson himself glares back, only barely sheepish. 

“What?”

“You didn’t  _ tell _ him?”

If Liam didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn Jackson’s cheeks tinge pink at the accusation. He watches as Scott raises an eyebrow, turning to look at Jackson dead on. Both of Brett’s arms move to cross Liam’s chest, almost as if in a protective gesture, pressure not insistent but definitely firm.

“Tell me  _ what _ , exactly, Jackson?”

None of them speak after Scott, until Isaac softly prompts, “Jackson...?”

“It never came up, okay?” The defiant tilt to Jackson’s chin is something Liam’s come to expect from him after only the few days they’ve spent in the same space—and, sure, he'd  _ avoided _ Jackson as much as he could, but  _ some _ interaction had been inevitable. “And it’s not like I can just casually mention it whenever.”

“Jackson...” Liam has to bite his lip to keep from chuckling at how much simultaneous fondness and chastising Isaac can put into a single word. 

“ _ What _ ? It’s not like I can just  _ say _ ‘Oh, by the way, my parents bought a house out here when I told them I was moving back with Isaac since our old place already sold and Lahey’s is gone and—’"

Isaac sighs in exasperation, effectively cutting Jackson’s rambling off, his eyes flashing to the ceiling before he looks back at Scott.

"And I  _ told him _ that maybe you'd be interested in it being for more than just the two of us."

There’s another silence, this one much longer. Liam can feel his stomach sinking further and further into the ground. Can feel his eyes widening because  _ no way _ is this actually happening. No way are they  _ actually  _ suggesting—

“What,” Scott’s voice is hoarse, like his throat is as suddenly dry as Liam’s feels, “you mean like—like a pack house?”

“Well, I mean,” Jackson’s shifting in Stiles’ lap, refusing to look at them, “yeah? I guess?”

“Not to point out the obvious,” Liam almost laughs at how Mason’s voice falters as everyone’s heads swivel to face him, “but, uh, why—” he swallows, “why aren’t you living there  _ now _ if you, y’know, have it?”

“We  _ have _ been,” Isaac’s voice is careful now, low, rumbling his chest against Liam’s palm. “It’s where most of the stuff from our flat ended up.”

“Well, I mean,” Brett’s voice comes through deeper where Liam has an ear against his chest, “it sounds to me like if you guys are okay with us moving in, that’d solve most of the problems.”

“Except for the new ones,” Stiles points out, gaze centering on Liam and making him squirm, “like the fact that  _ some _ people here are still minors.”

“Only until the summer!”

Stiles rolls his eyes at Liam’s outburst.

“I didn’t just mean you, baby beta.”

Jackson chokes on a laugh as Liam feels his face flame. Stiles elbows the wolf in his lap. 

“Shut up, Jacks, or I’ll tell them about your  _ favorite _ nickname.”

“Fuck you, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“Stiles has a good point,” Scott interrupts their bickering—or, if Liam’s interpreting the scents coming off of them right,  _ flirting _ —and looks at Liam, Brett, and Mason in turn. “We’d need your parents’ permission for something like this, obviously.”

“But you’re our  _ alpha _ ,” Liam blurts out before he can stop himself. His face feels like it’s on fire, and he turns to hide it in Brett’s chest. As he does, though, he catches Scott’s face splitting with a grin.  

“I know. Still, we need to ask them. It’s not like we’ll have a responsible adult living there with us—”

“Hey!” Stiles pipes up. “We’re plenty responsible!” 

“—and we’ll have to figure out other things, too,” Scott overrides him, sending a glance Stiles’ way that Liam can only think of as  _ fond _ . “Things like food, and jobs, and transportation.  _ But _ ,” he shifts his gaze to Isaac, then back to Jackson, “once we do that, how soon could we move in?”

———

  


Liam starts spending the night at his parents’ house—and when had it become “his parents’ house” instead of  _ his _ house, he finds himself wondering?—in a bid to convince them to let him leave. Okay, sure, it’s kind of manipulative, trying to get on their good side to get what he wants, but…

The thought of the rest of the pack all sharing a house, of having a place to themselves where he  _ isn’t _ , makes something twist unpleasantly in his guts. Something that feels distinctly like being left behind. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since he tried to turn his back on the pack and make it on his own—his ‘rebellious teenage years’ Stiles still calls that period of about six months. It’s the sort of feeling that makes him gnaw his lip until he tastes blood; that manifests as a low ache in his chest, drawing his hand to his sternum to rub at something he can never quite seem to reach.

So he sleeps in his old bed, surrounded by walls that no longer smell like home, and exchanges one ache for another.  

Thankfully, some of the pack— _ his _ pack, the pack he knows—each take a turn cramping themselves into his bed so that it doesn’t feel too empty. Or...something like that. They each do it in their own way, each call it something else, and each have, well,  _ different _ approaches. 

———

  


“Cuddle me, and I’ll tear your intestines out through your nose.”

Malia says the words with a completely straight face, her tone betraying nothing. Still, her shoulder bumps against Liam’s with the lightest of pressures when she settles, so he swallows and nods, craning his neck towards her. Tries to look like he believes her. After all, he knows how hard she’s worked to cultivate her—very deserved—reputation as a stone-cold badass. 

“I mean it. This is just so you stop looking like someone fucking punched you in the nuts all the time at school.”

More emphatic nodding, though this time Liam feels his face heat. Pulls the blankets up to his chin, the urge to pull them higher strong.

“And so Scott stops texting every five fucking minutes, asking if one of us has checked on you. You know he can feel you, right?”

There’s the sound of rustling, and before Liam even really has time to register the ringing in his ears, Malia’s at the edge of his vision, propping herself up on one elbow. 

“Right here, he says,” she taps his chest through layers of cloth, just over his heart. “He told us he can feel all of us, but that you come through more clearly for some reason. Probably the whole ‘his beta’ thing. Anyway,” she rolls away again, the skin of her arm resting without pressure against his  shoulder again, “whenever you’re stressed out, it apparently stresses  _ him _ out, which is annoying as shit.  _ So _ ,” the back of her hand whacks him in the gut, “cut it out, squirt.”

“Geeze,  _ fine _ ,” Liam rubs at his stomach. She’s never pulled her punches. 

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

She ends up hogging the covers. Still, the soft sounds of her breathing—the way she  _ totally _ snores lightly when she’s on her right side facing him, though Liam would rather  _ die _ than tell her so—eventually lull him into a thankfully dreamless sleep. 

———

  


The door has just snicked behind his mother’s retreating footsteps when Brett sneaks through the window. He enters without a word, landing on soundless feet, and at first Liam only knows he's there by the muted beating of the other werewolf’s heart. It’s a familiar, steady rhythm his own memorized many nights ago. He doesn't roll over when that heartbeat draws closer behind him, just smiles when he feels the mattress dipping under added weight. 

The covers rustle, and a hand finds his side, fingertips feather-light where they skate over his shirt. Liam hums under his breath, rolling so that his side rises up into the touch, Brett’s palm warm through cloth. Brett, for his part, doesn’t say anything about it. Just hums back, body sliding until Liam can feel the broad expanse of Brett’s chest pressed against his shoulder blades. He pushes back into that chest with a low, contented sound, relishing in the way the heartbeat he can still hear—the heartbeat that misses a step—pulses gentle but firm against his back. 

He doesn’t resist when the arm Brett has on his side moves to splay fingers over his chest, thumb hooking under his collar with a teasing scrape of nail and swipe of skin. Nor does he resist when he feels Brett’s other arm slowly but insistently position itself as his new pillow. Twists his head to press his nose to the pulse he can feel against his cheek. Doesn’t even think about it his when lips follow, making Brett squirm. 

“ _ Hey _ ,” The word is hissed against his scalp, breaking the comfortable silence, “that  _ tickles _ .”

“Yeah, like you don’t enjoy it.”

Liam can practically feel Brett’s eyes roll in the way he huffs. 

“I swear, if you weren’t so cute I’d’ve dropped your ass months ago.”

“Mm,” he hums into the meat of Brett’s arm, “you haven’t even been here a year yet.”

“Exactly.”

“Barely even three months.”

Brett huffs again.

“ _ Exactly _ . You’re catching on.”

There’s a beat of silence before Liam’s brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Holy shit, has it only been three months?”

“And a week or two. Junior year ends in a few weeks, and I joined back around Valentine’s day, so...”

Liam cranes his head back as Brett trails off, being careful not to twist his body out of the  _ quite _ comfortable hold Brett has on it.

“Really? But, how do you feel so—”

He nearly chokes, face  _ burning _ , when he realizes what exactly he’d been about to say. Ducks his head. Brett must get some kind of cue for his embarrassment—his scent, his heartbeat,  _ something _ —because he laughs softly, and Liam feels his packmate’s lips pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. The action sends something fiery—but not unpleasant—shooting across his skin from the point of contact. 

“You were saying?”

“No.” 

Liam ducks his head further, his chin making contact with his shirt. 

“Oh come on, now you  _ have _ to say it.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“ _ No _ .” 

“If you tell me I’ll shut up about it and I promise not to laugh?”

It’s not actually a question, but Brett somehow manages to make it sound like one. Liam chews his cheek before letting out in a rush, 

“I was going to say, ‘How do you feel so good already?’ But it’d make more sense and sound less dumb if I said right instead of good.”

The chest at Liam’s back tenses, and he elbows Brett in retaliation—not  _ hard _ , but hard  _ enough _ to make his point.  

“Shut up! You promised you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Brett’s voice is tight with restrained giggles, not at all fazed by the second elbow Liam prods into his ribs, “I’m  _ totally _ not laughing.”

“No, you’re just ruining the moment.”

“Pretty sure you did that first.”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Liam twists himself around in Brett’s hold, ignoring the unhappy sound it gets him. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so they end up on Brett’s chest, curled into fists over the worn logo of some band. “I was  _ trying _ to say that it feels like you’ve been a part of the pack forever.”

“Oh?” All traces of joking are gone now.

“Like,” Liam looks up into Brett’s eyes, but has to look away at the intensity he finds there, swallowing whatever he’d been about to say, reassessing. Lets himself start speaking again to the jut of Brett’s collarbone.

“It just feels like we wouldn’t be— _ aren’t _ —complete without you.”

“And... what about you?”

There are layers of meaning behind the question that, well. Liam can  _ hear _ them, but he doesn’t  _ understand _ them—doesn’t know what to do with them or what to do  _ about _ them. He’s always been honest with Brett, and he’s not about to change that. Something warm settles in his chest, and the words come spilling out.

“Honestly, I was convinced at first that I was going to hate you. But then after that first night,” he trails off, shakes his head as memory surfaces, warm and comfortable. Instead, he leans forward until his forehead is resting against Brett’s shirt. 

“Now, though? Now, I-I guess I don’t think that I can imagine my life without you in it. Is,” Liam takes a breath, looking into Brett’s eyes again, forcing himself to hold it this time, “is that weird?”

Even in the near-dark, Liam can see how widely Brett is smiling as if it were the middle of the day.

“Not at all.”

  


———

  


“Oh my god, I think I’m gonna  _ die _ .”

Liam lets himself sigh. Rolls his eyes before turning away from the small pile of sleep clothes he's been building over the last two weeks or so—each piece smells like a pack member who'd spent the night, and together they, well, they're better than nothing. 

“You're not gonna  _ die _ , Stiles,” he crosses his arms over his chest, fighting to keep a smile off his face and out of his voice. “I  _ told _ you that you were gonna regret dessert.”

Stiles groans where he's thrown himself supine on the bed, hands on his stomach. 

“You told me no such thing. You said, and I quote, ‘You have to try her chocolate lasagna it’s the best thing ever, Stiles.’ And look where that got me.”

Liam’s breath rushes out in a snort. He turns back to the pile of clothes, pulling his shirt over his head and leaning back down. Sifts through the various colors of fabric, trying to find the shirt he wore the last time Brett was over a few days ago. 

“That was my dad, not me.”

“Shut up it was not.”

“No, really,” Liam glances back over his shoulder to see that Stiles has thrown an arm over his eyes in a dramatic pose, can’t help but smile and maybe even chuckle a little. “Don’t try to blame me because you have no self-control.”

He doesn’t get an answer beyond another low grumble, so he goes back to hunting for that damn shirt. When he does finally locate it not even a few seconds later—buried at the bottom of the pile, of course—and pulls it out, another groan comes from the bed. This time, though, it’s most definitely not a groan of pain. 

“Really? D’you have to put a shirt on? I was enjoying the show.”

A molten ball of heat sears its way down Liam’s throat and into his stomach, choking him as he turns around. He can feel the warmth staining his face, radiating into his ears, down his neck, and even over his shoulders.

“ _ Stiles _ ,” he sputters, “ _ dude _ . You—”

“—are not blind,” Stiles finishes for him, grinning crookedly over his lowered his arm, though he’s still looking at Liam with his head tilted upside-down instead of rolling over. “And was enjoying the show.” 

Liam, however, shakes his head, fumbling with the shirt in shaking fingers as if it’s suddenly become the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. It’s not that he considers himself unattractive—he’s heard what some of the people in the hallways say about him after all—just…

That’s not a voice he’s ever heard directed at anyone but Scott. 

“Don’t you shake your head at me, I know what I’m talking about.”

But Liam continues, fumbling more with the shirt—where the hell is the bottom of the damn thing?—and biting his lip. He could swear the heat in his back has spread down his spine, too, and is currently oozing its way towards the very tips of his toes. 

“Stiles, you—” he manages to get his mouth working, though words come out rough, “you don’t have to—”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” that draws Liam’s eyes back to Stiles, to the flailing limbs as he rolls himself over with a soft groan, “Liam. Seriously.”

His eyes meet Liam’s, and Liam feels his skin burn even hotter at the low whine that leaks out of his throat. Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, the action surprisingly lacking in judgment for, well,  _ Stiles _ . After a few seconds, he can’t stand it, and Liam grits his teeth and forces himself to figure out the damn shirt—the stupid sleeves were both inside-out, apparently—and yanks it over his head. When he pulls through, it’s to find Stiles with his chin propped in one hand, his expression pensive. 

“You know, if you’re not okay with me saying stuff like that, all you have to do is say so.”

But Liam’s shaking his head again.

“No, it’s—it’s not that. I just,” he takes a breath, Stiles looking at him with a surprisingly patient expression, “I’m not Scott.”

Stiles blinks at him, eyebrows pulling together, then rising together. 

“Oh. I get it.”

Relief washes through Liam, and he lets out a soft breath.

“Really?”

“Yup,” Stiles grunts lowly as he rolls over again, this time sitting up and crossing his legs before fixing Liam with a flat look. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Hey!” 

Liam tries to be indignant, he really does, but the soft understanding in Stiles’ eyes and the way he’s patting the bed beside him in invitation has Liam huffing and taking the offered spot. At first, Stiles doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really move except to continue giving him that flat, wry look of understanding. Nods to himself, then continues his staring. Liam fidgets, pulling at the stretched neck of the t-shirt—courtesy of Malia grabbing him by the collar the very first time he’d worn it—until it’s covering the lower half of his face. Inhales the faint scents of Brett and Malia—of something approximating  _ pack _ —and tries to let that blot out anything else. 

“I like you, Liam.”

He nearly jumps when Stiles’ words break through the silence, almost loud compared to the faint hum of the TV in his parents’ bedroom down the hall. His eyes must’ve drifted closed at some point, because when he opens them he’s almost surprised to see Stiles’ expression changed to a level, intent gaze. All traces of joking or teasing are gone.

“But—” Liam starts, but Stiles’s hand interrupts him with a warm palm resting against his jaw.

“You’re right, you’re not Scott. Hey,” his thumb runs down Liam’s cheek, and he huffs at whatever expression crosses Liam’s face, “no, that’s  _ not _ a bad thing. It’s just the way it is. You’re not Scott, so I like you, but not the same way I like Scott.”

“You like Scott more.”

There’s no bitterness in Liam’s voice when he says it. After all, it makes perfect sense why anyone would like Scott more than him: Scott is... _ Scott _ . Stiles, however, frowns for a moment before the expression turns into a sad smile and he shakes his head.

“No, Liam. Not more. Not less, either.  _ Different _ .”

“But—” Liam opens his mouth to protest, because there’s no way that’s right, but a memory slams into him with enough force that it traps the air in his lungs. 

_ It’s different for each of them. It’s different for each person _ . 

His mouth flaps for a moment, a warm, tingling sensation spreading down his spine and through his guts. Stiles continues to smile at him, some of the sadness bleeding out of the expression, his hand never leaving Liam’s face. 

“So,” Liam finally manages to get out, “when-when you say you  _ like _ me, you mean—”

“I mean that I really did mean what I said before,” Stiles interrupts him, smile turning positively wicked as he laughs lowly. “I was  _ enjoying _ the show.”

Liam feels Stiles’ other hand, the one not rubbing soothing patterns against his cheek, skirt the bottom edge of his shirt, the pad of a thumb drawing goosebumps along the seam of his shorts. The breath he draws in almost involuntarily has a ragged edge to it. 

“ _ But _ ,” Stiles hand moves back, his smile returning to something Liam’s more used to, “I can understand if you’re not ready for that. For me to say or do that. Like I said, if you’re not okay with anything—if it’s too much, if you want to stop, if you’re not ready,  _ anything _ —just tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?”

There’s a moment’s silence after Liam nods before Stiles’ brows knit themselves together.

“You...you  _ do _ like me too, right? I’m not reading that wrong?”

It’s Liam’s turn to laugh. He doesn’t even need to think about his answer. After what Stiles said—and what Malia said  _ months _ ago—well...a few things sort of make more sense in his head. Or maybe, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he’s just more willing to admit to it now than he was a year ago. 

“No. You’re not wrong. Although,” and this he does have to think about, “you’re right. It’s not the same as with Scott. I,” he gnaws on the inside of his lip, words racing one another around his head, eyes focusing on one of Stiles’ moles, “I love Scott. A lot. Like. A  _ lot _ . I don’t know if it’s because he’s my alpha, but...I do.”

Stiles snorts. Liam can see his cheeks dimple.

“No, that’s just Scott for you.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, letting himself nod while still keeping his gaze away from Stiles’ eyes. He takes a breath, then another, and a third, forcing the churning in his gut down before he’s able to look up again. “Would you be okay if we...just like this? For tonight?”

He doesn’t elaborate, but relief rushes through him when Stiles’ expression mirrors understanding and he nods. 

“Sure. Like I said, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

His other hand brackets Liam’s face before he leans forward and up, chapped lips pressing a soft kiss to Liam’s forehead. It makes Liam’s skin tingle and his insides warm, his mouth pulling itself into a smile. The smile sticks even as Stiles maneuvers him under the sheets, tucking him in before stepping away for a few moments to get down to his shirt and underwear and flick off the light. His warmth when he returns has Liam turning to press his face against Stiles’ neck, their knees knocking together under the sheets. 

Stiles smells like a mixture of foreign scents, but beneath it there is still the scent that is purely  _ Stiles _ . Together with the shirt, it surrounds Liam with the scents of  _ pack _ . Or, at least, something closer to the real thing than what just the shirt would’ve given him.

“Thanks,” Liam mutters, eyes squeezed shut in the darkness. 

“Any time, baby beta.”

He tries to respond, to muster some indignant retort, but Liam can already feel himself slipping into dreams. 

   



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some sexual content here. Nothing too bad, but. Dicks are touching. The rating on the fic has been upped to E as a precaution for this chapter and this chapter alone. 
> 
> In case it's not clear, this takes place ~2.5 weeks after the start of the last chapter. This chapter is. Er. Pretty much entirely Liam/Scott. Like, almost 100%. 
> 
> Again I apologize for this taking so long (LIKE OVER A YEAR SINCE CHAPTER 5 JEEZE D: I am so sorry...)

The doorbell rings for the third time, and Liam yells a loud, “Coming!” down the stairs at whoever the hell is being so impatient, not bothering to keep his socked footfalls quiet. It rings again just as he reaches the bottom of the steps—he may or may not think something quite unkind—and he’s about to cross the scant ten feet to open the door when his mom is suddenly _right there_ , hand on the knob. She’s got the door open before the words “I got it” even think to make their way out of his mouth.

The small inward rush of air from the door’s opening carries a scent that slams into Liam like a brick wall.

“Oh, hello Scott.”

There’s a momentary silence filled with the sound of a thudding heartbeat—a _familiar_ heartbeat, and how had he not heard his _alpha_ coming a mile away?  

“Hi Mrs. Dunbar. Is Liam home?”

Liam can practically hear the smile and half-contained laughter in her voice as she steps to the side and looks back at him.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

He has all of two of his own suddenly-racing heartbeats to see Scott on the stoop, eyebrows scrunched together, before there’s a blur and only his werewolf reflexes keep him from going down under the force of the hug Scott wraps around him. Liam’s body sinks into the embrace without really thinking about it, his blood practically _singing_ in his veins at the proximity. His hands fist themselves around Scott’s back before he lets them open, fingertips digging in with a kind of desperation. He breathes deep, the scent of _alpha_ surrounding him, his exhale a low burble of contentment that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The sound is mirrored in Liam’s ear.

“I missed you,” Scott breathes into his hair, voice almost too low to be heard.

Liam tries to answer with words, but all that comes out is a low whine. It gets him a small laugh.

“I know, Li’. Two weeks. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Two weeks and four days.”

“Hmm?”

Liam pulls back a fraction, rearranging himself until he’s looking up into his alpha’s eyes. Doesn’t miss the way one of Scott’s hands threads fingers into his hair, idly scratching his scalp.

“Two weeks, four days. But who’s counting, right?”

He tries to make the words humorous, but the sigh breathed against his lips tells him he fails. That and the way Scott’s eyes dart away from his even as his alpha leans forward until their foreheads are touching.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Liam taps Scott’s back with his fingers until his alpha finally looks him in the eye again—it takes a minute, but they get there eventually, “it’s okay. You’re here now.”

“You know,” though he’d like to say he doesn’t _jump_ at the sound of his mom’s voice, Liam only barely manages to avoid headbutting Scott in surprise, “Liam’s dad is making dinner if you’d like to stay for a bit, Scott. Maybe give the two of you a chance to talk. It looks like you might need it.”

“Oh my god, _Mom_ ,” Liam buries his face in Scott’s shoulder, talking loud enough now that she can hear and trying to fight back the heat he can feel rising up his neck and cheeks, “shut _up_. It’s a _pack_ thing.”

“It’s true,” Scott pipes up, and gratitude is too small a word to describe what Liam feels for him in that moment. “We’re very tactile. Contact with other pack members helps keep us centered and in control. But—”

“Well then I _insist_ you stay,” Liam looks up as the door closes. Finds his mom smirking at them, her eyes all too knowing. He suddenly regrets the talk she and his dad had all but forced him into when he’d first started spending the night again. “It’s no trouble, I promise. Besides, it’ll give us a chance to talk, too.”

“ _Mo-om_ ,” he might be whining, but Liam can’t find it in himself to care.

“Oh please, Liam,” he can hear her eyes rolling without even looking, “you haven’t even properly introduced us to your alpha. I only know who he is because of all the patchwork your father ends up doing on him—”

“—that I’m _very_ grateful for,” Scott pipes up, and Liam huffs at the smile he can hear in his alpha’s voice. He chances a look at his mom over Scott’s shoulder to find her returning the smile.  

“I’m glad to hear it— _and_ because his mother works at the hospital,” she finishes. “From what you’ve told us—” Liam’s gut clenches, “—he’s almost like another parent to you, in a werewolf sense—” and unclenches again, though it does twist a bit at the analogy because, really, Scott as his dad? _Ew_ , “—so it only makes sense that you’d want to introduce him to us. And yet,”  she makes a sort of helpless shrug, “here we are. Over two years later.”

“To be fair,” Scott speaks before Liam has a chance to, “things were kind of busy for a while. We’ve only really had about a year of no new thing trying to kill us every other week at this point. And I’ve been away at college for most of that year.”

“Is that so? Well then,” Liam’s mom walks past them, beckoning over her shoulder, “why don’t you help me get the table set and tell me _all_ about it. And you can tell me all about this ‘pack house’ business Liam has been so insistent about. Oh, speaking of, Liam?”

Liam grunts in answer as Scott nuzzles into his neck once, far too quickly for his liking, and disentangles his arms from around Liam to follow. The sound draws a low laugh out of her.

“We use words in this house, remember?”

He grunts again, just to spite her. He feels colder already without Scott wrapped around him. His mom laughs harder.

“Why don’t you go see if your dad needs any help taste-testing dinner?”

Great. Just what he needs. His mom and Scott together in a room without him. However, she and Scott have already moved down the short hallway to the dining room and out of sight before he can object.

 

~~

 

Dinner flies by. Scott and his parents keep up a steady stream of conversation, and Liam chimes in whenever they ask him something directly. He eats, he knows that much, and _enjoys_ the food even—his dad is a fucking _fantastic_ cook. Still, he can’t for the life of him remember a single word that was said the entire time. Just remembers the looks his parents kept shooting him, approval written all over their faces. And why wouldn’t it be? _Everyone_ loves Scott. Fucking _everyone_.  

He remembers the feeling of Scott’s calf brushing against his under the table. The way the air seems to leave his lungs every time their hands brush. The sound of Scott’s laughter at what must’ve been one of his dad’s _awful_ jokes—they probably appeal to Scott’s equally horrible sense of humor. How his insides seem to melt every time their gazes cross.

How his chest freezes when Scott announces he’s leaving. That he has pack business he needs to take care of. Liam almost kisses Scott on the front stoop, right there in front of his parents. Even leans up for it, but Scott diverts at the last second, and his lips find only air before Scott wraps him in a quick hug and bids them goodnight before disappearing into the encroaching night.

So Liam heads back up to his room after his mom tells him that she’ll get the dishes—something he’s taken to doing every night since there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Liam is the worst cook in the house, though it’s not like that’s saying much. Upstairs, he stares at his phone for what feels like hours but ends up being a grand total of two minutes according to the clock. No messages pop up. No calls come through.

His phone clatters on his desk as he tosses it none too gently. Reaches for his backpack, resignation low in his gut souring the warmth from dinner.

Looks like another night alone.

After all, it’s not like someone comes over _every_ night. Sometimes, things come up. Stiles needs to study. Malia needs a night to herself. Brett has plans with some old friends from Dalton. They each have lives, after all. It’s not fair of him to expect the pack to adjust their own needs to make him happy. That’s not how it works. Still, he can’t deny that, for the smallest of moments, he’d hoped.

Liam shakes his head, dispelling the thought. It hadn’t happened. It’s _not_ happening. So he sighs, rifling through the papers in his bag, debates for a moment between two stapled sets, then pulls out a sheet of practice questions for precalc. He has his final next week, so he might as well get started on them.

It’s not like he has anything better to do.

 

~~

 

“Hey.”

Liam nearly stabs his pencil through his hand when he jerks in surprise. Then nearly falls out of his chair when he whips around to find Scott leaning against the edge of his window.

“I thought you’d _left_ ,” he keeps his voice low, hoarse with the brooding-turned-anger low in his gut. “I walked you _out_. You said you had _pack business_ to take care of.”

The growling emphasis works its own way into the words, but Scott hardly seems to notice.

“I do,” Liam can hear the laughter barely contained in his alpha’s low voice, “and why are we whispering?”

“Because we— _ugh_ , you’re impossible,” Liam turns back to his homework when he feels his eyes flash. Tries—and only barely succeeds—to not slam his fists as he puts them on the desk in front of him. His nails bite into the flesh of his palms, but he furrows his forehead and keeps his claws back by sheer force of will. Even if he hadn’t, he’s sure the sharp points biting into his flesh would've hurt less than the low sting that’s still buried deep in his chest.  

“Why don’t you go do, I dunno, whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Liam.”

All trace of joking is gone from his alpha’s voice, and Liam can practically _feel_ Scott’s posture change in less than one of his own heartbeats. He doesn’t answer, though. Forces himself to focus on the equation at the top of the page—the one he’d been halfway through figuring out when he’d been so _rudely_ interrupted.  

“Liam?”

He has to bite his lip to keep from answering this time. Scott sighs.

“ _You_ are my pack business.”

The words jolt something in his bones, and it takes Liam a moment before he swivels in his chair and looks up at Scott, blinking, anger evaporating to be replaced by the dull swirl of confusion.

“But-but I thought, with Jackson and Isaac back—”

“Liam, you matter, too.”

Like bile, the words force their way up before he can even think to stop them.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He clacks his teeth shut, regret an instant, hot flash up his spine. Doesn’t miss the way Scott flinches. He might be upset, maybe even a little resentful, but—

“Scott, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, no,” his alpha laughs ruefully, mouth twisted, “ _I’m_ sorry. I deserved that. I,” he sucks in a deep breath through his nose, lets it out in a noisy exhale as he lets himself fall into sitting on Liam’s bed, “I haven’t been there for you, Liam. I was so caught up in Jackson and Isaac coming back, in _why_ they came back, that I didn’t _think_.”

“Scott—”

Scott cuts him off by crossing over to him, taking Liam’s hands in his own. Liam tries not to think about how _warm_ they are, how strong the casual grip is. Just holds his alpha’s gaze, doing his best to not drown in it.

“You thought I was going back to them. When I left.”

The nod is slow, but Liam couldn’t stop it if he wanted to.

“You’ve stayed with them every night for about three weeks now, so I thought maybe they were...were more—”

Liam can’t bring himself to say the word—not really—but Scott interrupts him anyway, grip suddenly crushing.

“ _No_ . Don’t even think for a _second_ —I told you,” Scott’s voice goes soft, but still no less insistent, “I _told_ you when Brett joined us that I would never give you up. I would never— _could_ never. You’re still one of the most important people in my life. Not even Isaac and Jackson could change that, even if they wanted to.”

“I dunno,” Liam sniffles, blinks, not quite sure when the moisture that rolls down his cheek had gotten there, and lets out a low chuckle in spite of himself, “I’m sure if they tried _really_ hard—”

“No,” Scott’s eyes flash red, his voice lacking humor, forced like Liam’s had been or otherwise, “ _never_.”

“But— _ugh_ ,” he has to scrub at his eyes with his hands, making spots flare up in his vision until his palms come back dry and he can look at Scott without the edges blurring, “but then why did you _leave_?”

The way Scott tilts his head shouldn't be adorable. It really shouldn't.

“I thought it would make your parents uncomfortable to know that I was spending the night with you, so I figured—”

“You figured sneaking into my room without them knowing was somehow _better_? Scott—”

“Look, I'm sorry,” his alpha cuts him off, a hand coming up to run at his own face, “I just. I didn't want to give them another reason to not let you stay in the pack house. I'm sure being in a relationship with your alpha isn't exactly helping your case—”

“ _Scott_ ,” frustration wells in Liam’s gut, and it must bleed into his voice because Scott comes up short, turns wide eyes on him. “They know. About the kiss. Well,” he can feel himself blushing, “kisses.”

Scott gapes at him for a second, and Liam can practically smell the question coming.

“They’re fine. With it. With us. They don’t care. They were really cool about it, actually. My, uh,” his face feels like it’s on fucking _fire_ , “my mom made fun of me for smiling so much when I told them.”

There’s silence between them for maybe two seconds, Liam waiting for Scott’s response, before something clicks in his brain. Something similar must happen to his alpha, because Scott’s eyebrows scrunch together and his mouth opens at the same time as Liam’s.

“ _Relationship_?”

“ _Us_?”

It’s so surreal, so _ridiculous_ , that Liam can’t help but burst out laughing, whatever low tension might’ve been building in the room evaporating. Scott laughs right along with him, and something in Liam’s chest goes feather light.

“So, you think of what we have like a,” he’s smiling so widely his face physically _aches_ , and he has to take a moment to rub a hand over his mouth that fails to turn the corners of his mouth even the scantest inch, “like a relationship?”

“There’s an ‘us’?” Scott counters, grin equally wide, playful words painting Liam’s skin.

Something hot rushes through his gut, pushing, insistent, and Liam doesn’t give himself time to think about it or question it. Just closes the gap between himself and Scott, sealing their lips together as a way of answering. The kiss doesn’t have time to become anything more heated, anything deeper, because Scott’s already pulling away, grin still impossibly wide.

“I guess you’ve just answered both our questions, then.”

He leans down, pecks Liam on the cheek before he has time to react, and is back by the window in a flash.

“Wait—where’re you going?” Liam stands without thinking about it, arms reaching for his alpha, and he has to physically clutch them to his sides to keep himself from following. Scott pauses by the window, giving Liam an impossibly bright smile that has his gut flipping end over end as it tries to crawl up his throat.

“I’m going to do it right this time.”

And then Scott’s gone, leaving Liam to his room again. No sooner has he sunk down into his chair, however, than the doorbell rings. This time, his mom answers before he has a chance to ring again, almost as if she’d been sitting in the living room, _expecting_ —

He shakes that thought off, pads as quietly as he can to his door and listens down the steps.

“Hi again, Mrs. Dunbar.”

“Scott, dear, back so soon?”

“Yeah, I, uh, finished up that pack stuff faster than I thought I would. But, that’s not why I’m here. Some of the pack told me that Liam’s not sleeping so well at night, and, well, you remember how I told you that being close helps us when we’re having trouble, so I was wondering—”

“If you could spend the night?” Liam can almost imagine the shit-eating grin his mom is wearing. “Of course, dear, it’s not a problem. It’s so nice of you to _ask_ , not like that Brett Talbot, sneaking in at all hours, thinking he’s being so sneaky— _I know you’re listening, Liam Dunbar_. Come down here and talk like a normal person instead of skulking up there in your room, why don’t you?”

Scott’s answering laughter is the only thing keeping him from wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He huffs, willing the pink he can feel coloring his cheeks away, and opens his door to slowly make his way down the steps. When he rounds the bend in the middle, he can see his mom and Scott at the bottom by the front door, both of them looking expectantly up at him.

“Good,” his mom looks between the two of them once Liam’s on the bottom step, “now I won’t have to repeat myself later. No funny business, am I clear?”

“ _Mom_!”

“Not unless _both_ of you consent to it. I taught you that much.”

“Oh my god, Mom, you’re going to _kill_ me, I’m going to die right here, right now, from embarrassment—”

“I know how you are, Liam Dunbar,” she rounds on him, shaking a finger, relentless. “I _raised_ you. By _myself_ , I might add, before I met your father. I _know_ you. And I know once you set your mind to something, you go for it completely and wholeheartedly, consequences be damned. So if I hear that you’ve pressured this fine young man here,” she gestures back at Scott, casting a kind glance his way, “into anything he isn’t ready to do, I will make sure to _personally_ ruin any chances you have of holding a steady relationship any time for the next five years.”

“ _Mom_ , _jesus_ , we’re not—”

“And _you_ ,” her tone softens as she turns to Scott, and despite the embarrassment crawling in his chest Liam almost laughs at the rapid shift in his alpha’s facial expressions from amusement, to terror, to confusion. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Scott’s face smoothes over, an earnest look replacing the confusion as he nods.

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

Liam can only see half of his mom’s face, but he can smell the roil of emotions coming off of her just fine. The urge to reach out to her, to hug her and let her know that she’s still his mom, that he still loves her—that none of that has changed—is strong. Especially once he catches an undercurrent of something that smells just this side of sadness.

“Then take care of him for us. Please.”

Liam’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“Wait, does that mean—”

His mom turns back to him, smile carrying that same hint of sadness she’s giving off.

“Yes, Liam. I’ll have to talk it over with your father, of course,” she holds up a hand, “and there are going to be some conditions. Grades and such. But,” she closes her eyes, takes a breath, opens them again and nods, “yes. We’ll miss you like crazy, but you can go stay with your pack.”

It takes Liam’s mom longer than he’d like to think about for her to lay out her conditions—that he visit at least once a month unless he _can’t_ , that he keep his grades up and keep his parents updated with any changes to his grades, college applications, and so on. She looks ready to keep talking when she suddenly quiets. Looks down at Liam’s feet where he realizes he’s been unconsciously shuffling in place, then back up to his face. He squirms under that gaze.

“Anxious to get somewhere, Liam?”

“Mo-om,” he groans as she just grins at him.

“Hey, you’re my kid, I get to embarrass you.”

“Mom!”

“Alright, alright. Fine. One last thing before you crazy kids sneak upstairs to do things you think adults don’t know about—”

“ _Mom_!”

“Yes, yes, Liam, I know. Anyway,” she turns her gaze on Scott, addressing him directly, “I’m sure you’ll all do everything in your power to keep my Liam safe, but my biggest concern is still the age of everyone involved. I _know_ you all mean well, and have seen things no kid should have to see. However, I need to know that there’s someone there—an _adult_ —who can keep an eye on him or on you in case things go wrong. In case you come across something you _can’t_ handle.”

And that, well. Liam is more than aware of what a sticking point that’d been at the pack meeting—honestly, the oldest of them is 20, and most of them are still teenagers. So he expects Scott to sigh, to tell her they’re aware of the problem but don’t have a solution yet, or to hunch his shoulders and say they’re working on it.

Instead, Scott’s face brightens, a mischievous grin creeping across his mouth.

“What if I told you we might already have someone?”

 

~~

 

Less than one of his suddenly-racing heartbeats after he shuts the door to his room, Liam feels strong hands on his wrists, guiding him around. Doesn’t even have the time to smile at the warm, light feelings in his chest before there are lips on his— _Scott’s_ lips on his, his mind practically _sings_ at him—and they’re shuffling their way back towards the bed. He lands on top of his alpha, straddling his legs, both of them grunting at the impact, and he lifts himself up on shaking arms until he’s panting onto Scott’s partially opened mouth. Scott pants right back, eyes glowing in the near-dark, his hands moving to Liam’s neck and pulling his head down. Not for a kiss, but to bring their foreheads together. Their noses collide at an angle that should feel awkward but instead feels almost familiar and comfortable. Liam can feel his own eyes glowing, heating amber to match Scott’s ruby reds. They both lie there, just breathing one another in, Liam letting himself soak up the heat Scott radiates through both of their clothes before he grins.

“Y’know, this’d be a lot more fun without clothes on.”

The smile spreading itself across Scott’s face falters for the briefest of moments, his brows knitting together.

“Are you sure?”

Nervousness shoots through his gut like a spear of ice, but Liam bites his lip, ducks his head, and nods against Scott’s shoulder.

“That’s not very convincing, Li’.”

The groan that works its way from between his lips sounds almost pitiful, even to Liam’s ears.

“Scott...”

“Liam.”

His alpha’s low voice is steady, but it still sends sparks racing up Liam’s spine to make him shiver.

“I’m _sure_ , Scott.”

The fingers on his skull thread into his hair, scritching lightly.

“Look me in the eyes and show me, Li’. We’re not doing anything unless you don’t have _any_ doubts about this. About _us_.”

He can hear the smile in his alpha’s words despite how laden they are with meaning. Swallows, the nerves jangling in his chest as the reality of the moment sinks in. This is his one chance. He’s spent over a year fucking this up, of not—not _saying_ what he _means_. Not saying what _needs_ to be said.

Instead of answering with words, though, he sits up, looking his alpha dead in the eye. Lifts his shirt over his head in one swift motion, breaking eye contact for only the brief moment fabric obscures his vision. Tries not to groan at the low sound Scott makes beneath him, or how he can feel his alpha’s muscles tensing and hear his breathing catch beneath him.

“I want this.”

It feels like someone else is in control of his body as the words come tumbling out. Like he’s floating just inside his own head, watching outward. His limbs feel too light, his skin too bright. The confidence building within him feels like it’s taken on a life of its own, radiating from within his skull through the warmth he can tell is still swirling yellow in his irises.

“I want us. I want _you_.”

The world suddenly spins, and before he can react, Liam finds himself rolled over, Scott now the one straddling _him_. He opens his mouth to retort, but then Scott’s shirt is gone too, and any words get lost at the sight of his alpha, half naked and practically glowing with heat above him in the darkness. Scott, of _course_ , must see, because he smirks. Doesn’t say anything, though, just leans down and forward to nuzzle at his neck. Liam turns his head on instinct, a low whine escaping him when Scott growls and teeth—still human—scrape over the pounding of his pulse. The whine gets louder—loud enough that it might even get into the range of human hearing—as lips join those teeth, nipping and sucking at Liam’s skin, drawing forth spots that Liam can tell by feeling alone would become bright purple bruises in anyone normal. There’s no alpha authority behind it, though, and tingling warmth floods Liam’s skin, the marks fading as soon as they form. He tries to commit each to memory, to remember where they were even as Scott’s mouth moves lower, tongue and lips and teeth tracing every line of Liam’s torso.

Liam looks down at his alpha, breath coming in gasps and soft sounds escaping his lips as Scott finds another spot that makes his spine tingle and his pulse jump. Scott’s eyes travel up, crimson meeting gold, and Liam nearly chokes from the intensity he finds there.

“Ngh, _Scott_ ,” his voice sounds wrecked, like he’s been screaming his pleasure for hours, and they’ve only just started, “ _please_.”

Makes a vague sort of downward gesture, trusting his alpha to understand. A moment later, he gasps as strong hands find his pants, undoing them before tugging him free in a single motion. He feels open, exposed, and lets his legs fall apart once they’re free, a hand coming up behind his head as he blatantly puts himself on display. Scott comes back into view, kneeling over him, and this time his hands run the length of Liam’s body, starting at his face and tracing every inch of him all the way down to his toes. He whines, though, when Scott keeps his fingers away from the one place Liam _needs_ him to touch. Moves to grab at his alpha’s wrists, but an iron grip encloses his wrists instead.

“ _Liam_.”

Liam freezes up at the sound of his name falling from his alpha’s lips like that. There’s no alpha power behind it. There doesn’t need to be. Scott sounds just as aroused, just as desperate as him, and Liam feels his entire body tensing at that alone. At the thought that Scott _wants_ him.

“ _Please_.”

He doesn’t actually know what he’s begging for at this point, just that he’s _achingly_ hard and he _wants_. Wants Scott. Wants anything. Wants _everything_.

Scott, of course, nods.  Leans down until their mouths meet again, his tongue tracing the seam of Liam’s lips, and Liam opens them with a gasp, a second one drawn out of him as sparks race behind his eyes where they’ve slipped shut. His hands come up to feel, to touch, but as soon as he makes contact Scott is gone. There’s the sound of rustling fabric, and when Liam peels his eyes open it’s to the sight of Scott at the foot of his bed, miles and _miles_ of skin on display. His vision is drawn to the visual evidence that Scott is just as aroused as he is, and he can’t help but wonder if Scott’s always been this...impressive, or if it’s only now that it’s directed at him that he’s noticing.

Scott, every blistering inch of him, is on top of Liam before he has time to think about it. Their tongues are twisting together in kisses that are neither chaste nor hesitant. His hands try to find somewhere, anywhere to hold on, and end up roaming over Scott’s back, settling just above the rise leading to Scott’s ass. Scott, however, seems to have no such compunctions, as his hands roam freely, down Liam’s side to force themselves between the bed and Liam’s body. Fingers grip him tightly as his back bows, and Scott uses the grip he has on Liam’s ass to pull his entire lower body upwards and grind their erections together.

“ _Holy sh_ —” Liam’s yell is cut off by Scott’s tongue, dissolving into unintelligible whimpering as he sees constellations form in the dark above them. Scott chuckles into his mouth, pulling away just far enough that Liam can still feel his ragged breathing on his face, can see the line of spit that still connects their lips glinting in the dark.

“That good?”

In answer, Liam shifts his grip downward—and holy _fuck_ Scott’s ass may _look_ nice but it feels ten _thousand_ times better—and writhes his body, breath catching as he forces them to make contact again. He can feel Scott’s body shuddering above him, watches as his alpha’s eyes flutter in the darkness, and feels a low thrill of satisfaction thread its way among the arousal. He smirks as he does it again, groaning and panting.  

“That good, huh?”

Scott growls low and deep, hands gripping Liam’s wrists and pinning them on either side of his head. The action draws a gasp out of Liam, his arousal thickening into something almost _more_ when he tests the grip and finds it unmoveable. Wraps his legs around Scott, using the leverage to force their dicks together again and whimpering at the friction.

“Gonna make me yours, alpha?”

Scott’s entire body collides with his, pinning him completely, and Liam nearly _cries_ with joy, the half-sound he does end up making swallowed by his alpha. The heat is incredible, racing like lightning through him, singeing his nerve endings. Scott’s pace increases, thrusts becoming more and more forceful until Liam fears for his bed, until it feels like Scott is trying to actually fuck him through the mattress. Pleasure races through him, leaving molten trails in its wake that make him whimper.

All too soon, Liam feels tension building at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter in his guts. He gasps, feels his claws extend within Scott’s grip.

“Fuck, Scott, I’m gonna—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before it feels like his body almost literally explodes, the ends of his mind flying apart in a glowing, hazy mess. Through it, he can still feel Scott rutting against him, the mess Liam has made coating his cock and easing the glide between their skin, and _shit_ he’s still _hard_ and—

“Mine,” Scott growls, eyes drawing Liam’s gaze to where they’re practically _burning_ . “ _Mine_.”

He leans down, forward, and his teeth— _fangs_ —pierce the skin of Liam’s shoulder as he comes all over Liam.

It should hurt. Consciously, Liam knows this.   

Instead, it sends white lightning coursing through Liam’s body, and before he can stop himself his own fangs have dropped and he’s mimicking Scott and coming again, breaths frantic through his nose. Where his first orgasm had felt like an explosion, this one feels like a goddamn _supernova_ , making the world vanish in a cloudy haze of pleasure and aftershocks as Scott’s hips stutter against him.

He’s not sure how long he drifts like that, lost in the overabundance of sensation, but when he finally comes back to himself it’s to Scott gently kissing his cheeks, his brows, the corners of his mouth. He brings a leaden arm up, his hand tracing around his lips even as Scott kisses the backs of his fingers.

“Mm, don’ worry. There’s no blood,” Scott slurs, humming lowly and moving to nuzzle at his neck. “Healed too fast to really bleed at all.”

“But what about—”

“Same for you.”

Liam can feel his brows pull themselves together.

“B-but. You’re an alpha. I thought wounds from alphas—”

“Only if they don’t want them to,” Scott cuts him off with a languid kiss before pulling back. “I’d _never_ hurt you, Liam.”

Liam bites his lip, then gently nips at Scott’s because he _can_.

“Does it usually— _ah_ ,” Liam has to force himself to concentrate as Scott moves back down and latches onto a particularly _sensitive_ spot on his neck he hadn’t known existed until about two seconds ago, “does it usually happen like that?”

“Hmm?” Scott doesn’t seem in any rush to explain or to do anything but draw gasps and soft whines out of Liam. “You mean the biting?”

“Y-yeah. Does that—does that always happen?”

“Mm,” Scott hums against his skin, “nope. Never before. Just with you. Why? Did you not like it?”

“ _No_ ,” Liam blurts, realizing only when Scott tenses and leans up how that sounds, “I mean, no, that's not it at all. It was fucking _amazing_.”

“Figures,” Scott laughs, tension draining as quickly as it'd come. “Stiles always said he thought you'd be kinky.”

“Hey!”

“It's not a _bad_ thing,” Scott’s laughter oozes over Liam’s skin as he drops an apologetic press of lips to the corner of Liam’s mouth. “It just means you're different. That it's not the same with you as it is with anyone else.”

Liam tries to formulate some sort of reply, something about how being different doesn't make him _kinky_ , when Scott moves. Two things become suddenly apparent.

First, both of them are apparently still, _somehow_ , hard. Because...werewolves, if he had to guess. Either they can go _several_ times in a row, or they have no refractory period. A combination of heat and cold shoots through him at the thought of finding out which.

Second, he's a _mess_. He and Scott’s release are both cooling on his stomach—and chest and neck, he realizes with a start—and some even on Scott’s stomach. He lets out a groan, fingers swiping through the mess. Scott follows his gaze and laughs, the sound half-drunk.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I guess we both got you kind of, well...”

“I—” Liam shuts his mouth, curiosity overtaking him. Doesn't think about it, just trails his hand through the cooling, congealing puddles on his stomach and pops his fingers in his mouth. Feels his face twist. The flavor isn't... _bad_. It's just not _great_ either.

“Don't like it?” Scott’s voice is thick. “That's okay. Not everyone does.”

“I mean,” Liam does the best imitation of a shrug he can, “it’s not _horrible_. I’m not, like, opposed to it or anything. What about you?”

Instead of answering, Scott smirks. Grabs Liam’s hand and pulls it until he's sucking on each finger one at a time, tongue swirling around the digits. If that hadn’t been bad enough, he lets out a moan that makes all the porn Liam’s watched seem tame by comparison. Scott’s tongue feel like hot velvet against the pads of his fingers, the gentle pressure somehow more of a turn-on than it has any right to be. All while Scott holds his gaze, eyes filled with heat.

And Liam thought he’d been hard before.

“You,” he has to swallow past the arousal pooling at the back of his throat, “you, uh, you like it, I guess?”

Scott lets out a low hum, smiling around Liam’s ring finger, before he pulls off with a soft sound. Kisses each fingertip before letting Liam’s hand go. His smile transforms back into a smirk.

“I guess, yeah. Mostly, though,” red eyes flash as Scott leans down, and Liam’s fairly sure his brain melts at the sight of Scott dragging his tongue through their mixed release on his stomach. Not picking it up, just...tasting. Moving it around.

“Mostly, I just really like that you smell like me, now. And that I smell like you, too.”

“That I'm yours.”

The words pass Liam’s lips tasting true, though he feels a blush creeping up his cheeks nonetheless. Ducks his head to the side, needing to look at anything other than the way Scott’s eyes are practically _burning_ at him.

“I mean—”

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else, though, because Scott’s mouth covers his in a fiery kiss, and Liam can practically taste the contented growl bubbling up in Scott’s chest. Can feel it pushing its way down into his lungs when Scott’s tongue slides past his lips and their breaths intermingle. He groans back, arching himself against his alpha, relishing in the delicious sparks racing through him at the contact he steals.

Scott breaks the kiss around the time a heartbeat has started racing in Liam’s ears, though whether it’s his or Scott’s he can’t tell. He whines at the back of his throat, craning his neck to try to resume their kiss. The whine quickly transforms into a moan, though, when Scott starts licking his way down Liam’s torso again, this time with broad swipes of his tongue. If he thought he'd been about to explode _before_ , watching Scott—watching Scott _clean_ him, gathering their mixed release on his tongue, letting out low, _pleased_ growls—makes Liam’s dick positively _throb_. He whimpers. Has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to get the pain to distract him.

Closes his eyes and lets the sensations wash over him. Feels fingers skate ahead of Scott’s tongue, tracing invisible lines Liam can’t follow. Lower and lower until they pause, circling around where Liam can practically feel his own dick vibrating against his stomach. Scott doesn’t make any sound beyond the same low sounds he’s already making at the back of his throat, but Liam can hear the question in the words all the same.

“Please,” he blurts, breathless, then can’t seem to get his mouth to form anything more coherent than garbled, half-choked sounds as Scott’s tongue laves over his overheated flesh. The urge sweeps through him to thread his fingers through Scott’s hair, to grip tight and bruising, and it takes every shred of his willpower to not buck up. Scott hums against him, and Liam could almost swear that his alpha sounds _amused_.

He doesn’t have time to process that further, though, because Scott is suddenly leaning back up until his mouth is pressed flush against Liam’s. It feels like he’s asking permission again in the way his hands flutter over Liam’s cheeks, down over his neck and shoulders, and Liam, of course, answers the way he always will. He opens to his alpha without a second’s hesitation. One thing becomes obvious very quickly.

Scott hasn’t swallowed.

And, for some reason, to what little is left of Liam’s mind, that suddenly doesn't matter.

He groans as the combined taste of himself and his alpha flows into him, as the evidence of their pleasure coats his tongue. Takes what Scott has to offer gladly, his head spinning, giddy. His alpha’s tongue dives in after, tangling with Liam’s, mixing the two of them together until Liam can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Until the feel, the taste, of them together is no longer two distinct entities but is instead just _them_.

And, somehow, that thought feels _right_ in Liam’s chest. Makes heat pulse through his entire body and electricity race over his already hypersensitive skin.

When Scott finally does pull back, a line of white connects their mouths, hanging from the edge of Scott’s lips. The look in his eyes is hot, molten, and Liam can see something almost primal in those ruby depths.

“Swallow us, Liam.”

His throat works without him even thinking about it. The electricity over his skin intensifies as he feels the mass of their release sliding down his throat, making his skin feel like it’s buzzing. He whimpers as something a lot like _need_ settles in his guts, writhing under his alpha, whimpers growing stronger at the friction of the sheets on his skin. He looks up into his alpha’s eyes, breaths coming in harsh pants as his chest _burns_.

“Scott,” the word comes out sounding broken, even to Liam’s distorted senses, “ _alpha_. _Please_.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. Not really. Scott, though, just smiles down at him, eyes no less primal. Lowers himself until their cocks brush again, calloused fingers wrapping  around both of them in a sure grip.

And the buzzing of Liam’s skin _surges_ , the drag and pull of his alpha’s rough hands almost enough to fling him over the edge on its own. The sound he makes when Scott actually starts _moving_ —hands and hips working opposite one another and keeping Liam constantly, maddeningly stimulated—is more animal than human. He has to clamp his teeth over it, using every last shred of willpower he has left to keep his fangs from dropping.

“Liam.”

Scott’s eyes bore into his, and Liam couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He’s trapped in that gaze, in the fiery heat of his alpha, as Scott’s body undulates above him.

“ _Liam_.”

Liam’s mouth tries to form his alpha’s name in answer, to form _anything_ , but all that comes out is a half-broken breath punctuated by a moan at the feeling of Scott’s cockhead rutting against his own within the impossible heat of his alpha’s fist. His fingers scrabble desperately at the sheets, trying to find purchase on something solid, until they eventually seek upward and anchor themselves on Scott’s sides. He pulls with what little willpower he has left, drawing them impossibly closer together—he's not sure if he goes up or Scott comes down—until their foreheads are touching, until he can feel every ripple of his alpha’s muscles as Scott drives Liam impossibly higher and higher. He can feel his mouth open, trying to form words still, but all he succeeds in doing is sucking down the ragged breaths Scott feeds him.

“Liam...”

This time, when Scott says his name, lips brushing against his, the single word carries such _depth_ , such _love_ , that it shocks through to Liam’s very core. Has his body bowing, trapping Scott’s hands between them and bringing their overheated flesh into almost complete contact. Through it all, Scott never stops his relentless rhythm. He just smiles, arm working furiously between them as Liam hangs on for dear life, and brushes their noses together in a gesture so _tender_ it almost makes Liam’s brain short circuit trying to connect the action to the moment.

“Come for me, Liam.”

The words seem to be all he’d needed, because Liam’s entire body tenses and the next thing he knows his mind falls out the bottom of his skull. Pleasure washes through him in a white haze and he’s so far gone that he’s not even sure whether or not he’s making noise. Only that the two words echoing through his mind are _alpha_ and _Scott_.

When he finally comes back to himself, it’s to heavy eyelids and a warmth he can only assume is Scott curled against his side. Hands running soothing patterns over his stomach as warm puffs of breath skate over the skin of his neck. He lets out a whuff of air, keeping his eyes closed as a weak chuckle escapes him.

“That...that was...”

Liam trails off, but he can feel Scott’s mouth curl into a smile as his alpha presses a kiss behind his ear.

“Awesome?”

Another weak chuckle.

“Something like that, yeah. Mm,” Liam rolls a bit, slowly gaining awareness of his extremities, of how heavy they are among other things, “you clean me again?”

“Mm,” Scott hums back, skin sliding against Liam’s as he nods, voice a low rumble Liam can feel in his bones. “Now we smell like each other, inside and out.”

Scott makes a low sound of disapproval as Liam snorts, jostling his alpha’s grip on his chest. Liam feels him press himself impossibly closer, every point of contact between them a tiny fire in his mind.

“And you called _me_ kinky.”

Scott’s sound of disapproval turns to a huff, and Liam can practically _smell_ the pout. He resists the urge to open his eyes and look down at his alpha, but only just barely, instead relishing in the sensations of just being this close. In their mingled scents drifting lazily through the room, seeping into the walls as surely as they sink into his skin.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t mean to say the words, not aloud anyway, but finds he doesn’t regret them either. They don’t feel wrong. Probably haven’t for a long time. To be fair, he’d said as much to Scott in the woods a few weeks back, but still. This is the first time he’s ever just...said it. For no other reason than that he _can_ and he _wants_ to.

He can’t see Scott’s reaction, but he can feel it easily enough. A catch of breath above him, a stutter in Scott’s heartbeat before it thuds double time for a scant few seconds. An almost imaginary warmth that he knows without looking is his alpha’s eyes glowing down at him.

“I love you, too,” Scott answers him, waiting a breath before, “say it again?”

And Liam laughs, wraps his arms about his alpha while snuggling into the solid warmth, and does just that.

 

~~

 

Liam is jarred awake by the sound of the door opening.

“Liam? I— _oh_.”

He, of course, squawks and pulls the drifted covers as high as he can without actually covering his face. Accidentally ends up elbowing Scott in the ribs as he does, his alpha letting out a distinctly Stiles-esque squawk of pain.

“Mom!”

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Oh my goodn—”

“ _Mom!_ ”

“I’m sorry, Liam, I—”

“ _Mom_. _Out_.”

He does hide his face then, can feel it practically glowing.

“Please,” he adds, almost as afterthought, if only to get her to stop trying to apologize.

“I think you broke my heart,” Scott groans when the door shuts with a soft click, and Liam rips the covers off his head to see his alpha clutching at his chest and—

Laughing silently. Of course.

“Fuck you, this _isn’t funny_ ,” Liam punches him in the shoulder. Scott sticks his tongue out at him.

“You’re right, it’s _hilarious_.”

“Ugh!” Liam pulls the covers back over himself. Feels Scott’s hands pulling at them, so he holds on tighter, even through the way Scott’s laughter is shaking the bed. “No! It’s not funny!”

“Oh come on, y-you have to admit,” it sounds like his alpha is trying—and failing miserably—to get his laughter under control, “that _was_ pretty funny.”  

Liam groans, but can’t even muster up the strength to be upset—or, hell, even _annoyed_ —with the low chuckles Scott’s laughter has turned to, or the way Scott’s hands are gently petting him through the sheets. He groans and lets his alpha uncover him, twisting until he's on his side and they’re face to face. Nerves suddenly try to claw at his guts as does his best to hold that deep brown gaze, but he swallows them down.

“About last night, I,” the words get caught in his throat, and he takes a breath. Scott’s looking at him with something approaching _fondness_ —no expectation, no judgment, just...smiling. Somehow, that softens the lump trying to form in Liam’s throat.

“Thank you.”

Scott’s smile brightens. He leans forward and presses his lips to Liam’s forehead, a hand scrubbing along Liam’s scalp in a motion that’s almost like _petting_ —and, somehow, Liam finds that he doesn’t mind. It seems to be a theme to his interactions with Scott.

“I should be thanking you. Last night was awesome.”

Liam nods. Opens his mouth to agree. To tell Scott exactly _how_ awesome—mind-blowing, more than he’d ever imagined, _awesome_ —it had been. Instead, what falls out is:

“I’m glad my first time was with you.”

It would be almost comical how wide Scott’s eyes get, if it weren’t for the sudden twist of panic in Liam’s chest because _fuck why did he_ _say_ _that_ —

“That—last night was your first time— _ever_?”

Liam moves to hide his burning face with the covers again, but Scott’s grip on the sheets is suddenly ten times stronger than it has any right to be. He settles for looking away, breaking their eye contact and focusing resolutely on a crack in the wall he’d probably put there once upon a time—

“Liam,” Scott’s touches are gentle— _loving_ , Liam’s mind traitorously whispers, “look at me. Please?”

He can’t deny Scott that—can’t deny Scott anything, really, but _especially_ not when he uses that voice. The one that holds no judgment, no mocking or pity, just a soft kind of caring. When he looks, Scott’s eyes match his voice.  

“Liam?”

His cheeks still warm, Liam nods. And, of all the things he might’ve expected, Scott looking _sad_ is probably the last. It makes the dull heat of embarrassment fade—if only just a little. Has his hands loosening their grip on the sheets, letting Scott twine their fingers together. He watches as Scott’s eyes track down to where they’ve both apparently decided that their hands belong above Liam’s heart. Scott’s teeth worry at his lower lip.

“I’m sorry.”

Liam blinks.

“What?”

“I— _shit_ , Liam, I’m _sorry_. I wish I’d known, I would’ve, I dunno,” Scott’s rubs at the back of his neck, eyes still where their hands meet, and Liam feels the grip on his fingers tighten for just a moment, “I would’ve made sure to make I special for you too, y’know?”

And that...Liam opens his mouth, but the words get caught, like a flood trying to force its way out a coffee straw. He can feel a roil of emotions starting in his guts—something hot and oozing, something frozen and sharp, something fast and restless—but manages to keep it clamped behind his teeth.

“You’re an idiot,” he growls instead. Can feel his eyes heating, but one look at Scott’s face—so earnest, and now ruffled with confusion—has his chest soothing, the rising pressure vanishing in a cool wave that leaves through his feet. “It was with _you_ , Scott.”

If Liam could remember just one thing for his entire life, he would wish it to be this: Scott’s eyes widening as he tinges a deep red, mouth hanging open, speechless. Scott makes some sort of attempt at speech that sounds like he’s being strangled before he’s shutting his mouth with an audible clack of teeth. His throat bobs noisily, and Liam can’t help the way his eyes track the motion, or how they stay fixed on the curve of Scott’s neck for maybe a second too long.

“Liam, I—”

“It was with _you_ ,” Liam interrupts him, rolling his eyes because _of course_ Scott is going to be difficult about this. “If you keep telling me that last night wasn’t special, that it wasn’t _exactly_ what I’ve wanted, w-what I—” this time, it’s Liam getting his voice caught in his throat, “what I’ve _dreamed_ about for-for _forever_ , then I,” he trails off, not quite sure how finish the sentence. Shrugs instead.

“It was exactly what I wanted, okay Scott? _Better_ , actually. Because it was with _you_ and I-I _love_ you. I...I _meant_ it—I _mean_ it.”

There’s silence for two of Liam’s suddenly thudding heartbeats, and then Scott is leaning forward and Liam’s heart _stops_ , his eyes clenching shut. It isn’t until he feels the soft press of chapped skin against his lips that it starts again, thunderously loud in his ears. But, not so loud that he misses the whispers Scott breathes into him.

“Good. I’m glad it was as special for you as it was for me.”

There’s nothing charged or sexual about the kisses they softly exchange, simple presses of lips against lips. Scott’s body shifts and arranges them both until Liam is underneath him, and Liam hums into the kiss as their fingers entwine on the sheets. Scott’s mouth opens a fraction, and Liam follows suit, both of them panting, sharing their breath, before Liam chases those lips again.

Eventually, Liam’s alarm goes off on his bedside table, and he groans. Lets his head fall against the sheets with a soft whump. When he opens his eyes, Scott’s _pouting_ down at him.

“Is that your alarm for school?”

Breath forcing itself through his nose in a sigh, Liam nods. His chest feels light and warm, but there’s a weight, just out of reach, that feels like the future encroaching on his present.

“I don’t want to go.”

That, at least, gets Scott’s pout to vanish, replaced by a soft, fond smile. He leans down, his nose brushing over Liam’s, making Liam’s eyes cross for a half second before they shutter at the contact.

“I know. I don’t want you to go, either. I want to keep you here all to myself.”

Liam’s belly feels like it’s glowing. He lets a grin pull at one side of his mouth.

“Well, at least I’ll smell like you all day.”

He watches as Scott’s eyes glow red and his lips pull back in a wide, half-feral grin.

“True—”

“Inside and out.”

And it was _totally_ worth it to interrupt his alpha to say that. Scott’s eyes go from glowing to _blazing_. Before Liam can react, Scott’s mouth is sealed over his, nothing chaste about the kiss this time, and Liam’s never gotten so hard so fast in his entire life.

“If I drove you,” Scott gets the words out between nipping and sucking at Liam’s lips, and _damnit_ they’re going to be completely red and swollen all day, he just _knows_ it, “instead of you taking the bus or walking, how much extra time would you have?”

Liam doesn’t get out a coherent answer at first, his brain still trying to keep up with Scott’s kissing.

“Liam.”

“I—” he whines, his brain slowly kicking on, “twenty minutes? Maybe?”

“And if,” Liam feels Scott leave his lips to suck fading marks where his neck and shoulder meet, “if I took a shower with you too?”

The thought short circuits Liam’s brain, and for a half-moment, he’s completely still, just... _imagining_.

“ _Liam_ , how much time?”

“Ten minutes,” he decides. Any more extra time in the shower than that and his mom will probably barge in on them again, “but we’ve gotta be _fast_.”

“Oh, I don’t know about _fast_ ,” the way Scott’s looking down at him almost has Liam coming on the spot, “haven’t you ever heard that old saying? Slow and steady wins the race?”

“But—”

“Alright, fine then,” Scott snorts, relenting. Swoops in to claim Liam's mouth again, the hungry kisses sending shudders up his spine. “Let’s see how many times I can get you off in ten minutes.”

 

~~

 

As it turns out, the answer is five. And then twice more in the shower. 

Apparently, werewolf stamina is a _very_ real thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and concrit are welcomed. I'll have the next part up as soon as it's done.


End file.
